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Windy  Creek 


Windy  Creek 

By  Helen  Stuart  Thompson 


Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
New  York  1899 


Copyright,  1899,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTING  AND  BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


PREFACE 

Lest  the  writer  be  thought  to  be  holding 
up  a  primitive  people  to  ridicule,  a  few  words 
of  explanation  may  be  necessary. 

It  is  not  my  wish  to  decry  religion:  I 
have  seen  instances  of  sincerity  and  child- 
like faith,  especially  among  the  Free 
Methodists.  There  is  one  Evangelist  now. 
preaching  in  the  rain-belt  who  gave  up  his 
position  of  railroad  engineer  to  work  and 
suffer  for  a  pittance  in  the  cause  of  Christ. 
But  as  an  eye-witness  to  the  shallowness 
and  absurdities  palmed  off  on  a  credulous 
community  under  the  name  of  religion,  it 
has  been  my  wish  to  set  forth  the  harm  of 
emotional  religion — to  show  how  the  glar- 
ing inconsistency  between  professions  of 
holiness  and  imperfect  lives  tends  to  dull 
the  moral  sense. 


T 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

I.  A  Colorado  Claim 1 

II.  A  Campbellite  Sermon  ....    24 

III.  The  Immersion 56 

IV.  Spending  the  Day 72 

V.  Some  Neighborly  Gossip    .     .     .115 

VI.  Free  Methodism  versus  Campbell- 

itism 153 

VII.  A  Dance 193 

VIII.  Two  Weddings 216 

IX.  The  Come-Outers 242 

X.  Rose  Rooney's  Error 272 

XL  Diantha 315 


WINDY   CREEK 


i\    COLORADO    CLAIM 

Whoever  on  a  clear  day  climbs  Pike's 
Peak  may  catch  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the 
rain-belt  rolling  eastward  from  its  foot:  a 
grassy  strip  amid  arid  plains;  a  fertile  spot 
in  the  alkaline  desert,  coaxed  into  verdure 
by  rain-clouds  that,  swept  from  mountain- 
heights  by  light  and  ever-moving  winds, 
sometimes  hover  and  dissolve  themselves  in 
showers. 

Pregnant  with  a  sense  of  profound  isola- 
tion is  this  plain,  its  monotony  broken  alone 
by  winding  creeks,  high  hills,  and  steep 
descents,  and  ever-changing  panoramas  of 
Hght  and  shadow  on  the  mountain-range  ly- 
ing to  westward;  even  the  long,  irregular 
lines  of  telegraph  poles,  the  whistle  of  the 
locomotive,  and  the  rumble  of  the  train  bring 
I 


Windy  Creek 

but  an  instant's  unreal  memory  of  the  far- 
off,  busy  world. 

From  out  of  the  east  and  the  south  and 
the  north  drift  the  settlers,  file  on  quar- 
ter sections,  run  barbed  wire  around  their 
lands,  put  up  shanties,  and  so  found  home- 
steads for  their  families.  Corn  waves  on 
the  hill-sides.  The  lowlands  are  marked 
off  in  dull  green  potato-patches.  At  inter- 
vals of  a  few  miles  are  the  schoolhouses, 
within  whose  bare  walls  the  children  spell 
out  their  lessons,  and  their  elders  listen  to 
doctrines  variable  and  changing  as  the 
winds  that  sweep  the  prairies  and  wither 
the  young  corn  and  send  on  aimless,  flying 
trips  the  unstable  tumble-weed. 

In  early  times  one  of  the  rain-belt's  sandy 
water-courses,  dry  except  in  time  of  August 
floods,  was  known  by  the  name  of  Windy 
Creek;  and  the  settlement  that  emigration 
has  scattered  along  its  banks  is  to-day 
known  by  no  other  name.  Here  the  winds 
blow  almost  incessantly.  On  the  stillest 
days  there  is  ever  perceptible  a  gentle  mo- 
tion of  the  atmosphere.  There  is  infinite 
variety  in  fitful  breeze,  mad  whirlwind,  tur- 

2 


A  Colorado  Claim 

bulent  gust,  or  steady  gale.  But  the  greater 
the  altitude,  the  lighter  the  wind;  never  in 
the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant  has 
even  so  light  a  structure  as  his  hen-house 
been  overturned,  bluster  the  elements  how 
they  may. 

To  this  lonely  region,  for  three  succes- 
sive Septembers,  came  the  Wood  cousins: 
Ruth,  invalided  by  a  brief  life-struggle  too 
eagerly  tried,  sought  a  respite  on  her  claim, 
and  Hermia  bore  her  company.  There 
could  be  no  rude  jostling  here;  on  these 
broad  homesteads  there  was  a  chance  for 
the  feeblest,  there  was  room  to  expand  in 
this  pure  air  and  sunshine.  Here  were 
virtues  flourishing  as  the  flowers  of  the 
field:  hospitality,  simple-heartedness,  tem- 
perance, charity — far  from  the  city's  bane- 
ful breath,  living  close  to  the  heart  of 
nature,  the  country  people  must  be  both  in- 
nocent and  good. 

A  haven  of  refuge  was  the  home-ranch, 
adjoining.  With  an  old  horse  and  wagon 
at  their  disposal,  the  country  for  miles 
around  was  theirs  to  explore.  Housekeep- 
ing duties  dwindled  to  a  slight  routine. 
3 


Windy  Creek 

"  Early  to  bed  and  late  to  rise "  became 
their  maxim,  and  few  were  the  sunrises  they 
troubled  themselves  to  see.  With  a  little 
of  sewing  and  mending,  and  much  of  driv- 
ing and  visiting,  the  short  days  flowed 
easily  on ;  between  them  they  kept  a  journal 
alive  with  incident;  they  read  aloud;  twi- 
light walks  and  talks  ended  the  day.  A 
drowsy  existence,  but  brimful  of  healthful 
idleness,  profit,  and  peace. 

The  first  night  in  the  little  gray  shack 
alone  on  a  sea  of  prairie  was  a  wakeful  one. 
Sleep  fled  before  the  sense  of  solitude. 
Every  nerve  was  tense.  Sounds  broke  on 
the  ear  with  exaggerated  distinctness:  the 
ticking  of  an  insect  in  the  wood,  the  crick- 
ets' shrill  fiddling,  the  early  twitter  of  little 
birds,  and  the  quick  scratching  of  their  tiny 
feet  on  the  roof.  These  sounds  passed  into 
insignificance  before  a  howl  that  cleft  the 
stillness — a  wild,  curdling,  long-drawn 
howl,  and  a  burst  of  barks  and  yelps  and 
yells,  and  weird,  uncanny  laughter.  Imag- 
ination pictured  a  wolf  and  the  answering 
pack.  But  the  ventriloquous  throat  of  a 
single  tawny-coated  coyote  produced  both 
4 


A  Colorado  Claim 

howl  and  yelping  and  laughter,  sounds  that^ 
speedily  familiarize  themselves  to  inhabi- 
tants of  the  prairie. 

As  the  cousins  sat  down  to  the  breakfast- 
table,  their  nervous  fears  of  the  night  and 
the  darkness  dispelled  by  the  yellow  sun- 
shine that  streamed  in  across  the  floor,  a 
quick  step  sounded  without,  and  a  shadow 
darkened  the  doorway.  A  young  woman 
stood  on  the  threshold,  her  tall  form  illy 
fitted  by  a  gown  of  dark-blue  calico,  her 
face  sparkling  in  the  depths  of  her  sun- 
bonnet. 

"Hello,  Ruth!  Thought  I'd  ketch  you 
jist  gittin'  up! " 

She  burst  in  and  noisily  kissed  Ruth,  who 
in  some  confusion  presented  their  nearest 
neighbor.  Rose  Rooney. 

"  I  heard  you  had  a  cousin  come  to  visit 
you,"  said  the  caller,  staring  hard.  "  How- 
dy do?  You  don't  favor  Ruth  one  bit,  nor 
your  aunt  and  uncle,  neither.  You're  twic't 
as  big  as  the  whole  outfit.  You  girls  goin' 
to  bach  here?  Gracious!  Ain't  you  'fraid 
to  stay  alone  nights?  I'd  be!  Set  still! 
Don't  quit  your  breakfast  fur  jist  me,  I'll 
set  on  the  trunk !  " 

5 


Windy  Creek 

She  spoke  in  exclamatory  bursts.  Her 
voice  was  loud  and  brisk,  with  pleasant, 
ringing  tones.  She  pulled  off  her  bonnet 
and  fanned  her  heated  face,  while  her  ob- 
servant glance  swept  the  room,  taking  a 
rapid  inventory  of  the  curtains,  the  rugs, 
the  dishes  on  the  table,  and  the  books  and 
photographs  ranged  on  shelves  around  the 
bare  pine  walls. 

"  'S  your  cousin  expectin'  to  stay  all  fall 
with  you?  Her  ma  needs  her  at  home,  FU 
bet.  You  girls  do  about  as  you  please  when 
you're  bachin',  don't  you?  Let  your  pa 
work  your  claim  fur  you ;  don't  even  have 
to  dig  your  own  taters  fur  dinner — my !  and 
lay  around  and  take  it  easy.  Git  up  late, 
have  your  meals  when  you  like — my  land! 
You  hadn't  ought  to  want  more'n  two  meals 
a  day  when  you  git  up  so  late.  You  jist 
ought  to  see  the  work  I  put  through  only 
this  mornin' — afore  you  girls  was  up,  most 
likely.  I  milked  an'  got  breakfast  an'  got 
the  kids  up  an'  give  them  their  breakfast  an' 
slopped  the  pigs  an'  done  a  churnin'  an' 
washed  up  after  it  an'  scrubbed  my  floor; 
an'  then  I  come  over  here.  I've  got  so 
6 


A  Colorado  Claim 

much  to  do  I  jist  can't  see  straight.  There 
ain't  no  let  up  to  it,  neither.  Jist  wait  till 
you  git  married,  if  you  want  to  know  what 
work's  like!" 

She  glanced  knowingly  at  Hermia,  who 
noticed  that  her  eyes,  set  too  close  together, 
gave  her  face  an  expression  of  cunning. 

"  You  look  lots  better  'n  what  you  done 
last  summer  when  I  first  seen  you,  Ruth," 
continued  the  visitor.  **  You  use'  to  look 
kind  o'  peaked.  Folks  that's  sick  looks  so 
old,  don't  they  ?  But  you  look  lots  younger 
'n  you  use'  to.  Land!  I  couldn't  be  sick 
if  I  tried.  I  ain't  got  no  time  to  be  sick. 
Layin'  around  in  the  house  an'  doin'  nothin' 
's  what  ails  you.  You  git  out  more  an' 
work  out-doors  an'  you'll  soon  be  as  well 
an'  strong  as  anybody.  Take  a  wheel-bar- 
row an'  run  it  'round  the  house  every  day, 
if  you  can't  git  nothin'  else  to  do.  That'll 
limber  you  up !  I  see  your  pa's  give  you  a 
horse  an'  wagon — you  want  to  ride  if  you 
can't  walk ;  you  want  to  ride  out  to  church 
Sundays — say !  we've  got  us  a  new  preacher 
sence  you  was  out  here  last ! " 

"What  is  his  name?" 
7 


Windy  Creek 

"Mr.  Crimp.  He's  a  rustler,  too.  He's 
got  the  whole  country  converted,  most,  sence 
he  come  out  here  last  March;  an'  he  gives 
immersions  every  two  weeks,  reg'lar." 

"  He  must  be  a  Baptist,  then." 

"  No,  he  ain't  no  Baptist.  He's  what 
they  call  a  Campbellite  preacher.  He 
preaches  beautiful  sermons,  they  make  you 
laugh  an'  cry !  I  wish  'twas  Sunday  every 
day  of  the  week,  sence  I  was  converted,  so's 
I  could  go  an'  listen  to  that  man  preach. 
An'  I  never  use'  to  care  fur  preachin'  nor 
nothin'.  I  tell  you  religion's  made  a  great 
change  in  me.  You  jist  ought  to  hear  Mr. 
Crimp,  girls;  you  never  see  a  man  that 
knowed  as  much  as  he  does,  an'  he  so  mod- 
est about  it,  too.  He's  jist  as  common,  he 
don't  put  on  no  airs  at  all.  You  folks  is 
Presbyterians,  ain't  you?  Now  I  never 
would  care  to  be  one  of  them  kind — I'd 
rather  be  a  Campbellite.  Presbyterians  is 
so  high-minded." 

"  Have  you  been  immersed  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  yit,  but  I'm  goin'  in  the  water 
come  Sunday,  if  I  live.  Ruth,  have  you  got 
that  princess  pattern  of  yourn  that  your  ma 
8 


A  Colorado  Claim 

said  you  had?  I'm  makin'  my  dress  that 
I'm  goin'  to  be  immersed  in,  kind  o'  prin- 
cess-like, clos't  fittin'  an'  long  enough  to 
drag.  Em,  that's  my  sister,  she  come  over 
yisterday  an'  helped  me  cut  it  out.  But 
the  thing  didn't  hang  together  right,  some- 
way, an'  I  had  a  good  cry  over  it.  Your 
ma  said  you  had  a  reg'lar  princess  pattern, 
so  I  jist  posted  over  fur  it.  Goodness !  I 
must  be  goin'!  Them  young  uns  o'  mine 
'II  set  the  house  afire  afore  I  git  back !  " 

Ruth  brought  out  her  box  of  paper  pat- 
terns and  rummaged  through  it. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  are  going  to  have 
your  gown  ready  by  Sunday,"  remarked 
Hermia. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  putter  over  my  sewin' ! 
Onc't  I  git  it  cut  out  to  suit  me,  I'll  slap  it 
together  someway !  I'll  have  the  thing  oat 
o'  the  way  afore  the  men  come  home  to 
their  supper  to-night." 

"  What  sleezy  curtains  you've  got ! " 
cried  Mrs.  Rooney,  fingering  the  cheese- 
cloth drapery.  "  Flour  sackin'  'ud  wear 
better.  An'  look  at  them  beds,  narrow  as 
all  git  out !  I  sh'd  think  you  would  want  to 
9 


Windy  Creek 

hang  curtains  in  front  so's  folks  couldn't 
see  'em!  Why,  they're  jist  bunks,  made 
fast  to  the  wall!  Don't  you  feel  like  you 
was  gittin'  into  your  coffins  ?  " 

Her  busy  eye  roved  about. 

"  Land !  Look  at  them  books !  I  never 
see  sich  a  family  fur  books  an'  papers! 
You  ain't  got  hardly  any  flies  yit,  have 
you?  But  they'll  find  you  out  when  you 
begin  to  leave  victuals  'round.  You  jist 
ought  to  see  the  flies  to  my  house !  You're 
awful  crowded  here,  ain't  you  ?  Guess  your 
pa  built  you  a  little  bit  of  a  house  to  match 
you,  Ruth!  Ha,  ha!  I  alius  have  to  pick 
on  Ruth  about  her  size ;  but  don't  you  mind 
me,  I  was  jist  joshin' !  Ain't  you  'fraid  to 
stay  alone  nights?  I'd  git  nervous  in  a 
place  like  this  where  they  ain't  no  man 
'round.    Well,  I  must  be  goin'." 

Rose  Rooney  stood  for  an  instant  poised 
in  the  doorway,  swinging  her  bonnet  by  the 
strings.  Her  bold,  free  attitude  brought  to 
mind  some  tameless  creature  of  the  plains. 
She  was  tall,  with  large-boned,  muscular 
frame.  Her  skin  was  richly  browned;  a 
bright  color  burned  in  her  cheeks.     Her 

lO 


A  Colorado  Claim 

blue-black  hair  grew  low  on  her  forehead 
and  temples,  and  its  smooth  strands  she  had 
twisted  into  a  knot  on  the  nape  of  her  neck. 
Framed  by  black  brows  and  lashes,  her 
eyes,  though  slightly  marred  in  expression 
by  their  proximity,  were  wide  open,  blue, 
and  sparkling. 

"  You  girls  must  come  over  and  spend 
the  day!  Til  send  you  word  by  Jimmy. 
You  must  come  good  'n'  early  now !  Good- 
by!" 

The  Wood  cousins  lingered  at  the  door 
to  admire  her  quick  stride,  and  to  make 
sure  that  she  was  out  of  ear-shot  before  dis- 
cussing their  neighbor. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  long  sleepy  after- 
noon a  hesitating  knock  shook  the  latch. 
Hermia,  rising  to  open  the  door,  was 
confronted  by  a  large,  scoop-shaped  hat, 
trimmed  with  bunches  of  flowers  so  purple 
as  to  hurt  the  eye,  its  flaring  brim  filled  in 
with  wiry  black  hair  tortured  into  a  thou- 
sand frizzles  and  kinks,  and  by  a  round, 
brown,  smiling  face,  the  centre-piece  of  all 
this  adornment.  Behind,  a  younger  girl 
stood  giggling ;  sandy  in  complexion,  snub- 
II 


Windy  Creek 

nosed,  her  pudgy  form  arrayed  in  a  short 
sky-blue  frock,  yellow  flowers  on  her  hat, 
green  ribands  tying  the  hay-colored  braids 
of  her  hair. 

Cicely  and  Polly  Bunt,  daughters  of  a 
neighboring  ranchman,  trooped  in,  staring 
about  them  with  the  frank  curiosity  of 
very  young  children.  They  sat  down, 
stiffly  at  first,  each  on  the  extreme  edge  of 
her  chair,  but  presently  relaxed  into  easier 
positions.  The  younger  began  stripping 
off  her  cotton  mitts,  for  which  breach  of 
etiquette  she  was  properly  reproved  by  her 
sister. 

"  Don't  take  off  your  half-handers.  Poll, 
when  you're  out  callin'.  Mind  where  you- 
uns  is.    You  ain't  got  no  style  about  you." 

"  I  don't  keers.  It's  so  awful  hot.  I  hate 
the  feel  of  my  hands  kivered  up,  anyway," 
and  off  came  the  "  half-handers." 

''  It's  soon  to  call,"  explained  the  elder 
girl,  with  a  company  drawl,  "but  I  an' 
Polly  laid  off  to  come  an'  see  you-uns 
to-day,  seein'  as  I  leave  home  a-Monday. 
I've  got  a  place  to  the  Springs  to  work 
out." 

12 


A  Colorado  Claim 

"  Cis  thinks  it's  hard  lines  on  her  to  leave 
home  an'  work  out,"  giggled  Polly. 

*'  Well,  I  don't  tie  to  bein'  at  the  beck 
an'  call  o'  folks,  but  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  sweat 
over  it.  I  sha'n't  work  a  lick  more'n  enough 
to  git  me  a  outfit  o'  clo'es,  an'  then  I  aim 
to  quit  an'  come  home,  licketty  split.  I 
alius  were  great  fur  home — I  enjoy  home 
wuss'n  anything." 

She  handed  Ruth  a  little  tin  lard-pail. 
"  Maw,  she  sent  you  girls  some  fresh  pork. 
You'd  better  un-lid  the  bucket,  Ruth ;  fresh 
meat  don't  keep  good  lidded  up  tight." 

Polly  turned  to  Hermia :  "  You-uns  is 
from  Denver,  ain't  you?  Do  you  work 
out?" 

Hermia  replied  to  the  latter  query  in  the 
negative. 

"  I  reckoned  you  arned  your  clo'es  that-a- 
way,"  with  another  giggle. 

Cicely  took  a  portion  of  Hermia's  sleeve 
between  her  thumb  and  finger. 

"What  d'ye  call  this  stuff?  Jest  feel  of 
it,  Polly.    What  did  it  cost,  now? " 

"  About  twelve  and  a  half  cents  a  yard." 

"  Well,  I  swan !  I  must  git  me  a  dress 
13 


Windy  Creek 

like  that.  It's  awful  handsome  an'  awful 
cheap,  too.    Got  the  pattern  of  it?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  did  that  pin  in  your  hair  cost?'* 

"  Really,  I  don't  remember." 

"  See  them  rings  of  ourn  ?  "  said  Polly, 
spreading  out  her  short-fingered  hand  be- 
side Cicely's  to  display  two  very  brassy 
circlets.  "  Them's  prize  rings.  Cis  arned 
'em  seUin'  tea." 

And  Cicely  explained,  with  honest  pride : 
"  They  give  you  a  solid  gold  guaranteed 
ring  fur  every  five  pound  of  tea  you  sell. 
See  the  filigreed  work  on  them  ?  I  sold  ten 
pound  of  tea  fur  the  two.  If  you  girls 
would  like  to  arn  you  one  apiece,"  with  ani- 
mation, "  ril  git  the  name  an'  address  of 
the  tea  company  fur  you." 

"  Cis,"  broke  in  Polly,  "  when  you  git  you 
a  dress  like  Hermia's,  hyur,  you  mustn't 
make  it  wrapper-like.  You  know  maw 
don't  like  a  wrapper  on  you." 

"  Maw  says  she  don't  never  like  to  see 

a  wrapper  on  a  thick  woman,  it  looks  so 

slowsy,"   Cicely  explained.     ''  I'm   sort  o' 

thick  made,  an'  so's  maw,  an'  so's  Polly. 

14 


A  Colorado  Claim 

Now,  you're  slim,  an'  you  look  good  in  a 
wrapper." 

Polly  laughed  aloud,  struck  by  a  sudden 
recollection. 

"  Us  girls  took  a  fit  o'  dressin'  up  t'other 
day.  I  tried  on  maw's  tea-gownd  an'  I  went 
a-swishin'  the  tail  around  on  the  floor,  an' 
Cis,  she  dressed  up  in  my  knee-dresses,  jest 
fur  devilment.  Jake,  he  come  in  onex- 
pected,  an'  ketched  us,  an'  he  like  to  deviled 
Cis  to  death  over  it." 

"Now,  Polly,  what  did  you  go  to  tell 
that  on  me  fur?  Polly,  she  do  like  to  bad- 
ger folks,"  expostulated  her  sister;  adding, 
"  I  ain't  got  much  to  my  back,  now,  but  I'm 
aimin'  to  git  me  some  fine  clo'es  right  soon." 

Polly  tittered.  "  Your  clo'es  won't  keep 
fine  long  when  you  an'  Jake  housekeep ! " 

"  Now,  Polly,  don't  tell  everything  you 
know!" 

Ruth  looked  up. 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  wedding  in.  prospect,  is 
there  ?    Is  it  Jake  Atwood  ?  " 

Cicely  simpered,  delighted  at  the  turn  of 
the  conversation,  and  the  others  laughed 
from  sympathy. 

IS 


Windy  Creek 

"  Her  an'  Jake,"  volunteered  Polly,  *'  aim 
to  set  up  in  the  spring.  Jake's  claim  lays 
right  alongside  o'  yourn,  there,  on  the  east 
side." 

Conscious  pride  of  her  position  vibrated 
in  Cicely's  flat,  metallic  tones  as  she  took 
up  the  strain. 

"  I  an'  Jake  lay  off  to  build  us  a  little 
house  first,  like  this  'n'  o'  yourn.  This  'n'  's 
big  enough  fur  I  an'  Jake.  We  don't  need 
no  bigger  house  to  start  with.  Some  day 
we're  talkin'  about  addin'  on  to  it,  an' 
buildin'  us  a  five-room  house.  I  want  a 
parlor  an'  a  dinin'-room  an'  two  bedrooms, 
an'  a  kitchen,  an'  wild  cucumber-vines  to 
climb  all  over  the  porticule  in  front." 

"  It  will  be  a  fine  house  for  Windy 
Creek,"     observed  Hermia. 

"  Yes,  I  an'  Jake  lay  off  to  put  us  up  a 
finer  house  than  what  Rose  Rooney's  got 
her.  That  woman's  alius  braggin'  high  an' 
low  over  her  fine  house,  an'  I  an'  Jake  aim 
to  call  her  down." 

''Don't  you  like  Rose  Rooney  for  a 
neighbor  ?  " 

"  Nq,  we  don't.  Maw's  been  a  mother  to 
i6 


A  Colorado  Claim 

that  woman,  an'  she's  treated  her  so  mean. 
We-uns  jest  had  to  drop  Rose  Rooney. 
She's  talked  about  all  of  us.  She's  talked 
about  me,  awful.  She  tolt  maw  I  weren't 
neat  like  her  'n  Polly.  She  said  I  were 
frowsy-headed,  an'  she  said  when  I  were 
married  an'  had  a  house  o'  my  own,  I'd  let 
it  go  dirty.  She  said  I  let  my  head  go 
frowsy,  Rose  did.  My  sakes!  Maw  says 
I  comb  my  head  clair  out  o'  raison!  I 
never  let  my  bangs  go  straight,  an'  maw 
scolds  me  fur  combin'  my  head  two  an' 
three  times  a  day.  Maw  says  I  won't  have 
ary  hair  left  in  my  head  if  I  don't  quit  rak- 
in'  it  so  much.  An'  Rose,  she  tolt  Em  Post, 
that's  her  sister,  that  she  never  did  see  what 
Jake  seen  in  me — that  she  didn't  admire  his 
taste.  Rose,  she  never  liked  me.  I  wouldn't 
do  her  work  fur  her,  I  reckon  that's  why 
she's  talked  so  about  me.  She  use'  to  send 
over  fur  I  an'  Polly  to  come  an'  mind  her 
children  fur  her  or  chop  her  wood  or  help 
her  wash.  I  went  onc't  or  twic't,  but  it 
were  too  much  like  bein'  a  servant  to 
her,  so  I  up  an'  quit.  But  Polly's  free- 
hearted: she  goes  yit,  sometimes.  I  ain't 
17 


Windy  Creek 

never  spoke  to  Rose  sence  Marky,  that's 
her  youngest,  were  horned.  I  ain't  got  no 
use  fur  her,  an'  I  won't  go  with  a  woman 
that  can't  keep  thur  tongue  off  o'  me. 
Onc't  she  says  to  maw,  'Thur  ain't  a  girl 
in  this  country  that  has  a  decent  drop  o' 
blood  in  them ! '  An'  that  were  jist  about 
as  bad  as  her  sayin'  I  an'  Polly  weren't  de- 
cent. Maw,  she  fired  right  up,  an'  she  says, 
*  Look-a  hyur.  Rose,  you  needn't  talk  about 
ary  one  o'  my  girls !  I've  got  some  spunk, 
now  I  can  tell  ye ! '  Rose,  she  says,  '  I 
weren't  talkin'  about  none  o'  your  girls ! ' 
But  maw  knowed  she  were  meanin'  I  an' 
Polly.  Rose,  she's  alius  talkin'  about  peo- 
ple's wrongs — she's  alius  gassin'  about  how 
mean  people  is,  when  she's  the  mean  one. 
She's  alius  meddlin'  whur  she  ain't  no  busi- 
ness to.  She  went  an'  tolt  Dr.  Peffer  that 
we  was  too  poor  to  pay  our  doctor-bills; 
an'  after  her  meddlin'.  Dr.  Peffer  quit  fixin' 
maw's  eyes:  she  had  granite  eyes.  He's 
awful  mean  that-a-way,  he's  as  clos't  an' 
hard  as  he  can  be.  Didn't  you-uns  see  Dr. 
Peffer?  You'd  remember  him  if  you  did. 
He's  got  him  a  office  over  to  Arrowhead, 
i8 


A  Colorado  Claim 

an'  he  doctors  all  over  Windy  Crick.  He's 
a  little  man,  awful  neat,  an'  he's  got  little 
bits  of  hands,  like  Ruth's.  He's  a  awful 
smart  doctor,  if  he  is  little.  But  we-uns 
ain't  got  no  use  fur  him. 

"  What  do  you-uns  think  Rose  said  to 
maw,  right  after  maw's  little  baby  died? 
When  maw  lost  her  little  boy,  that  were  the 
first  experiments  she'd  ever  had  of  death. 
She  were  feelin'  all  broke  up  over  it,  like. 
Her  'n  Rose  was  down  suUer,  an'  Rose,  she 
says,  '  It's  a  good  thing  the  baby  did  die. 
You-uns  is  too  poor  to  raise  it.'  That's 
jest  what  that  woman  said.  Maw  didn't  tell 
me  that  not  fur  a  long  time.  When  she 
did  tell  me,  I  as't  her  why  she  didn't  kick 
Rose  out  o'  the  suller;  an'  maw  said  she 
would,  only  fur  havin'  to  kick  her  up- 
stairs." 

"  Looky,  Cis !  "  Polly  broke  in ;  she  had 
left  her  seat.  '*  Come  an'  take  a  look  at  this 
table  over  hyur.  I've  been  a-stedyin'  whur 
the  table  were  at  whur  you-uns  et,  an'  hyur 
'tis!" 

"  Now,  ain't  that  a  right  cute  idee ! " 
cried  Cicely,  jumping  up  to  see.  *'  I'm  go- 
19 


Windy  Creek 

in'  to  git  Jake  to  make  me  a  table  like  that 
in  my  house,  sure  as  you're  horned.  Say, 
it  don't  take  up  no  room  at  all  when  it's 
down,  do  it?  An'  that's  the  idee  in  a  little 
bit  of  a  house." 

The  table  in  question  was  a  single  leaf, 
swung  by  leathern  hinges  against  the  wall; 
when  in  use,  it  was  propped  into  a  horizon- 
tal position  by  a  folding  leg. 

Cicely  drew  back  the  curtains. 

"  Looky,  Polly !  see  how  them  bunks  is 
fixed,  nailed  to  the  walls!  An'  corn-husk 
mattresses  to  sleep  on,  an'  curtains  hung  in 
front.  An'  them  nail-kegs  an'  trunk  with 
calico  sewed  on  them,  an'  cooshions  on  top, 
fur  chairs  an'  a  sofy.  I'm  a-goin'  to  have 
some  jest  like  them." 

''  An'  oh,  ain't  that  a  cute  little  stove !  " 
cried  Polly. 

"  You've  got  a  lot  of  things  inside  your 
house,  but  the  way  thur  made,  an'  the  way 
thur  put,  they  don't  seem  to  take  up  no 
room  at  all,"  said  Cicely.  "You  kin  turn 
around  an'  walk  about  jest  as  easy!  Your 
pa,  he's  an  awful  handy  man — he's  got  you 
so  many  things  hand-made.     I  aim  to  tell 


A  Colorado  Claim 

Jake  how  nice  your  house  is  fixed  inside, 
so's  he  kin  git  an  idee  how  to  fix  up  ourn 
that-a-way." 

Polly  turned  on  Hermia,  suddenly. 
"  You-uns  kin  keep  house  so  nice,  why  don't 
you  git  married  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  shall,  some  day," 

"  Oh,  maw  says  thur  ain't  no  chanc't  fur 
a  girl  after  they're  eighteen.  If  they  want 
to  git  married,  they'd  better  hustle  afore 
they  git  that  old.  The  men's  gittin'  to  be 
so  pettic'lar  nowadays  they  want  a  girl 
to  be  reel  young,  or  else  they  won't  look  at 
them.  Cis  were  eighteen  last  Christmas, 
an'  maw  tells  her  she  only  got  Jake  by  the 
skin  of  her  teeth. 

"  Poll's  only  fourteen,  so  she  thinks  she's 
got  jest  heaps  o'  time.  But  maw  says  she's 
jest  cut  out  fur  a  old  maid — she  likes  cats. 
Plow  old  are  you  ?  "  directing  her  question 
point-blank  at  Hermia. 

*'  Sixteen,"  smiling. 

"  Well,  I  swan !  "  said  Cicely,  in  slow  sur- 
prise, and  Polly  exclaimed,  "  Why,  you-uns 
ain't  old,  then!  Folks  said  you  was  a  old 
maid.    You  look  as  old  as  Cis,  anyway,  an' 

21 


Windy  Creek 

you  act  old.  What  number  of  shoe  do  you- 
uns  wear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sometimes  one  number,  sometimes 
another  !•" 

"  How  funny !  I  wear  fours,  an'  Cis,  she 
wears  five  and  a  halves." 

"  Polly,  we-uns  must  be  goin',"  said 
Cicely.  "  It's  drawin'  towards  milkin'- 
time.'' 

"  You-uns  must  come  over  an'  see  we- 
uns,"  said  Polly. 

Cicely  clapped  her  hand  to  her  pocket. 

"  Oh,  I  clean  furgot  this  stuff.  Maw 
hearn  you-uns  were  poorly,  Ruth,  an'  she 
sent  over  this  bottle  fur  you  to  take.  She 
seen  your  skin  were  swarty  like,  an'  she 
made  out  it  were  your  liver  ailin'  you. 
Folks  that's  got  the  liver  complaint  is  alius 
swarty  in  the  face." 

"Your  mother  was  very  kind,"  mur- 
mured Ruth,  turning  over  the  bottle  and 
eying  its  dark  and  grewsome  contents. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  It's  called  Lyman's  Liver  Alleviator. 
Maw's  took  most  of  the  bottle.  It's  helped 
her,  lots.     It's  a  patent  medicine,  an'  it's 

22 


A  Colorado  Claim 

good  fur  liver-complaint,  cat-arrh,  and 
take-it/' 

"*  Take-it!'     What's  that?" 

"  Why,  when  you  take  it  inside.  You 
pour  a  spoonful  into  a  cup  of  water,  an'  you 
take  a  swig  of  the  stuff  onc't  in  a  while  till 
you  feel  better." 


23 


II 

A    CAMPBELLITE    SERMON 

The  Peak,  wind  and  weather  prophet  of 
,the  region,  rose  into  a  clear  sky  on  the 
morning  of  the  Sabbath  set  apart  for  im- 
mersion. 

On  the  plain,  beside  a  section  road  fenced 
along  with  barbed  wire,  stands  the  school- 
house,  the  counterpart  of  a  dozen  others 
scattered  throughout  the  country.  A  square 
frame  building,  unshaded  without  and  bare 
within ;  desks  hacked  and  ink-stained ;  rude 
benches  placed  around  the  walls ;  at  the  far- 
ther end,  the  teacher's  desk  for  pulpit. 

The  blackboards  bristled  with  auto- 
graphs of  the  young  people,  and  scrawled 
announcements  such  as  these  invited  pub- 
lic attention: 

Art  has  got  a  black  eye 
He  looked  at  Jean  and  thats  why 
24 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

R  is  sweet  on  D 
Dance  at  Bunts 
next  Saturday  Night 
Come  early 
if  you  want  any  Vittles 

There  was  a  buzz  of  talking  and  laughter 
in  the  school-room.  A  strong  smeir  of  to- 
bacco pervaded  the  room.  Bushy-headed, 
horny-handed  ranchmen,  wearing  their 
every-day  overalls,  by  natural  affinity  col- 
lected in  groups  to  discuss  crops  and  cattle 
and  weather.  The  younger  men  affected 
the  cowboy  style  of  dress;  they  were  sun- 
burned and  awkward.  Supremely  conscious 
of  the  presence  of  the  tittering  girls,  they 
cast  sidelong  glances  thither ;  but  shyness 
held  them  aloof.  The  women  came  clothed 
in  calico,  and  some  in  gingham  aprons  be- 
sides; they  wore  sun-bonnets,  which  they 
took  off  in  the  house.  In  a  corner  near  the 
door,  the  matrons  displayed  with  conscious 
pride  an  assortment  of  not  less  than  one- 
and-twenty  lusty  infants.  Lullabies  were 
hummed  in  two  or  three  different  keys; 
babies  cooed  and  fretted.  The  small  chil- 
25 


Windy  Creek 

dren  ran  about  with  that  boisterousness  ex- 
hibited by  the  young  rustic,  when,  its  panic 
of  fear  at  first  sight  of  strangers  allayed, 
a  reaction  sets  in. 

A  sudden  quiet  fell  on  the  congregation 
as  the  preacher  entered  the  school-house 
door.  He  strode  down  the  aisle,  and  laid 
his  hat  and  stick  on  the  desk.  His  minis- 
terial attire  was  a  seedy,  dust-colored  suit, 
with  a  sack-coat  that  bagged  at  the  pockets, 
and  slightly  soiled  linen;  he  wore  neither 
tie  nor  cuffs.  Mr.  Crimp  stood  before  his 
people,  a  short,  thick-set  man  of  about 
forty ;  his  face  and  hands  were  red ;  he  wore 
close-cut  side-whiskers,  and  a  mustache 
that  partially  concealed  thin,  tight  lips ;  his 
shaven  chin  was  flat,  with  an  upward  tilt; 
a  lurking  smile  played  about  his  mouth ;  his 
eyes  were  small,  restless,  and  greenish-blue 
in  color. 

From  right  and  left  smiling  nods  greeted 
the  pastor.  A  wiry  little  man,  with  face 
and  hands  fiery  red,  hitched  up  his  trousers 
and  ostentatiously  crossed  the  room  to  do 
him  honor.  A  huge,  hairy  farmer  gripped 
him  by  both  hands  and  shook  them  as 
26 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

though  he  would  shake  them  off.  The  first 
was  Mr.  Post;  the  second,  Mr.  Flieger, 
step-father  to  Rose  Rooney.  Both  were  on 
the  school-board,  and  great  men  in  the  dis- 
trict. 

Mr.  Crimp  pulled  a  white  cotton  hand- 
kerchief out  of  his  breast-pocket,  wiped  his 
heated  brow,  and  addressed  the  expectant 
congregation : 

"  We've  come  together  this  morning, 
good  people,  to  witness  and  to  participate 
in  the  most  solemn  ritual  of  the  Christian 
Church.  We've  come  together  first  to  lis- 
ten to  a  discourse  which  shall  prepare  our 
minds  for  this  solemn  rite ;  and  when  that's 
done,  we'll  all  repair  in  a  body  to  Bittern's 
sheep-pond,  where  the  services  has  been  ar- 
ranged to  be  held,  and  there  receive  a  little 
band  of  beloved  penitents  into  the  fola. 
When  they  are  gethered  in,  dear  friends, 
let  us  do  everything  in  our  power  to  make 
them  appreciate  their  blessed  privilege. 

"  Let  us  sing." 

The  preacher  gave  out  a  hymn,  one  of 
those  compositions  in  which  "  vain  repeti- 
tion" supplies  what  is  lacking  in  matter, 
27 


Windy  Creek 

set  to  a  jigging  tune  caught  quickly  by  the 
popular  ear: 

"  'Tis  religion  that  can  give, 
In  the  light,  in  the  light, 
Sweetest  pleasure  while  we  live, 
In  the  light  of  God. 

Chorus: — 

Let  us  walk  in  the  light. 
In  the  light,  in  the  light, 
Let  us  walk  in  the  light. 
In  the  light,  the  light  of  God." 

The  people  sang  vigorously  from  paper- 
covered  hymn-books,  torn,  and  scribbled 
with  nonsense  similar  to  the  inscriptions  on 
the  blackboards.  Mr.  Crimp  threw  back  his 
head  and  shut  his  eyes ;  he  beat  time  with  a 
lead-pencil,  tapping  his  foot  on  the  floor  to 
mark  the  rhythm. 

During  the  singing  a  young  fellow  saun- 
tered in,  late.  He  dropped  beside  two  slim- 
waisted  slips  of  girls  who  colored  brightly 
at  his  coming,  and  made  room  for  him  on 
the  bench.  From  the  hand  of  one  he 
wrested  a  broken  fan  tied  with  bits  of  scar- 
let ribbon,  and  gallantly  plied  it,  rewarded 
28 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

by  her  flashing  smile,  himself  a  mark  for 
the  resentment  of  more  than  one  less  auda- 
cious swain.  The  youth  was  Soph  Crimp, 
the  preacher's  son.  He  had  a  town- 
bred  air;  his  smile  was  pleasant,  his  eye 
blue  and  fearless;  but  in  the  son  the  thin 
lips  of  the  father  were  repeated,  and  the 
sharp  chin  was  yet  more  prominent. 

There  was  a  great  clattering  of  seats; 
mothers  hushed  their  children;  two  of  the 
matrons  lulled  their  babies  to  repose  by  rak- 
ing their  heads  with  fine-toothed  combs; 
and  the  congregation  settled  down  to  the 
digestion  of  the  sermon. 

Mr.  Crimp  picked  up  a  small  Bible  bound 
in  black  leather  and  laid  it  open  on  his  out- 
stretched palm,  while  he  turned  over  the 
leaves  with  his  other  hand.  Then  he  cleared 
his  throat  and  read  that  portion  of  the 
eighth  chapter  of  Acts  which  relates  to 
Philip's  baptism  of  the  Ethiopian  eunuch. 
When  he  had  finished  the  reading  he  re- 
placed the  Bible  on  the  desk. 

"  I  have  read  to  you  on  this  occasion  that 
portion  of  the  Scriptures  that  tells  us  how 
Philip  baptized  the  Ethiopian.  I  want  you 
29 


Windy  Creek 

to  take  notice  of  the  simplicity  with  which 
PhiHp  carried  out  his  plan  of  baptizing  this 
man.  He  didn't  wait  till  they  come  to  a 
city  with  a  church  in  it  and  a  baptismal  font 
and  all  that.  No;  he  stopped  the  carriage 
at  the  very  first  pond  they  come  to — and 
most  likely  it  was  a  sheep-pond.  In  those 
days  the  great  men,  the  learn'd  and  think- 
ers, kept  sheep  for  a  living;  and  of  course 
it  stands  to  reason  that  where  there  was 
sheep,  there  was  ponds  for  washing  the  wool 
to  prepare  it  for  shearing,  don't  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Flieger  nodded  his  large  head  sev- 
eral times,  and  leaned  over  to  whisper  to 
his  wife. 

"  I  selected  this  here  verse  for  my  text. 
Hunt  the  Bible  through  from  one  end  to 
the  other  and  you  won't  find  a  text  that's 
more  to  the  point  than  this  one : 

"  '  And  as  they  went  on  their  way,  ihey 
came  unto  a  certain  water;  and  the  eunuch 
said,  See,  here  is  water.  What  doth  hinder 
me  to  he  baptized?'    Acts  8:  36. 

"  Philip  believed  in  simplicity  so  far  as 
the  means  of  baptizing  was  concerned. 
But  he  was  mighty  particular  about  the 
30 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

manner  of  his  baptizing!  Just  listen  to 
these  words; 

" '  And  they  went  down  both  into  the 
water,  both  Philip  and  the  eunuch;  and  he 
baptised  him/ 

"  The  eunuch  was  completely  submerged 
under  water.  No  half-way  baptizing  about 
that.  Philip  believed  in  doing  the  thing  up 
brown;  he  believed  in  a  genu-ine  immer- 
sion. It  beats  me  how  some  of  these  here 
churches  that  believes  in  sprinkling  a  few 
little  drops  of  water  on  the  top  of  your 
head  gets  around  that  verse.  And  some 
other  verses  in  this  book,  too!  I  tell  you 
what  it  is,  my  good  people,  I'm  glad  that  I 
belong  to  the  Christian  church,  and  I'm 
glad  that  I  understand  its  doctrines.  Fm 
glad  that  you  do,  too.  It's  a  good  thing  to 
be  on  the  right  side,  ain't  it  ? "  said  Mr. 
Crimp,  with  an  engaging  smile. 

Mr.  Flieger  laughed  aloud  and  a  sympa- 
thetic ripple  ran  around  the  audience. 

"  Now,  one  Sunday,  when  I  lived  in  the 

city,  I  didn't  feel  in  the  mood  to  go  to  my 

own  church,  and  I  strayed  into  the  first  big 

church  I  come  to — an  Episcopalian  or  a 

31 


Windy  Creek 

Presbyterian  or  a  Methodist — IVe  forgot- 
ten which  it  was;  but  it  don't  matter; 
they're  all  about  of  a  piece.  Now  I  hadn't 
been  there  long  before  I  seen  a  baby 
whisked  into  the  entry;  then  another  an' 
then  another.  I  tumbled:  I  had  happened 
in  on  an  infant  baptizin'.  Excuse  me  for 
callin'  it  baptizin' :  sprinkUn'  is  more  to  the 
point.     (Laughter.) 

"  Now,  I  don't  know  whether  any  of 
you  has  seen  a  *  sprinklin','  or  not.  If  you 
haven't,  I  hope  you  never  will.  It's  a  waste 
of  time  even  to  look  on  at  such  a  sight. 
You'd  better  be  at  work  in  your  fields  of  a 
Sunday  mornin',  diggin'  potatoes  or  hoein' 
corn,  than  lookin'  on  to  see  a  lot  of  little 
young  babies  baptized,  like  I  did.  Well,  a 
string  of  men  and  women  walked  in  at  a 
side  door,  single  file,  every  man  a-carryin' 
a  baby  in  his  arms,  tricked  out  in  long 
clothes  and  lace  and  finery,  his  wife  a-fol- 
lowin'  at  his  heels.  They  formed  a  half- 
circle  round  the  pulpit  and  come  to  a  stand- 
still. The  preacher  come  down  the  steps, 
and  another  man  come  after  him  carryin'  a 
silver  cake-plate  in  his  hands — I  guess  it 
32 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

was  a  cake-plate,  borrowed  for  the  occasion 
of  some  lady  in  the  congregation,  most 
likely."  (Loud  and  delighted  laughter 
from  Mr.  Flieger,  and  tittering  from  others 
in  the  congregation.)  "The  preacher 
stopped  before  the  first  baby  in  the  row,  and 
its  father  handed  him  a  slip  of  paper  with 
the  child's  name  wrote  on  it.  I  surmised 
that  was  the  way  of  it.  Think  of  it !  Think 
of  baptizing  a  creature  that  wasn't  ac- 
quainted with  its  own  name!  Why,  you'd 
do  better  if  you  was  to  have  your  cat  or 
your  dog  baptized !  "  (Laughter.)  "  They 
have  the  sense  to  know  when  their  name  is 
called ;  but  what  sense  has  a  baby  got  that's 
under  six  months  old?  I  don't  ask  you  to 
believe  me,  my  good  friends :  it's  asking  too 
much  to  expect  you  to  believe  what  I'm 
going  to  tell  you.  That  infant  that  the 
preacher  stopped  before  and  took  the  slip 
of  paper  with  its  name  wrote  on  it — that 
infant  wasn't  two  months  old,  if  it  was 
that."  (A  murmur  of  horror  ran  round  the 
room.)  "When  the  baptizin' — no,  '  sprin- 
klin' ' — commenced,  there  was  a  great  si- 
lence fell  on  the  people,  and  everybody 
33 


Windy  Creek 

leaned  over  and  craned  their  necks  to  see. 
The  preacher  and  the  fathers  and  mothers 
looked  as  solemn  as  death  over  it.  The 
preacher  dipped  the  fingers  of  his  right 
hand  into  the  cake-plate,  so,  and  shook  the 
drops  oflf  onto  the  baby's  forehead  and 
wiped  the  top  of  its  head  with  his  wet  hand. 
'  Elizabeth  Mary,'  said  he,  '  I  baptize  thee 
in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  the  Son,  and 
the  Holy  Ghost.'  And  what  do  you  suppose 
happened  then  ?  Just  what  would  naturally 
happen,  of  course.  The  baby  cried!  It 
screamed  and  hollered  like  all  possessed, 
and  its  father  had  to  bundle  it  out  at  a  side 
door  without  waiting  for  the  close  of  the 
ceremony. 

"  That  little  infant  was  wiser  than  the 
minister  and  all  the  people  put  together.  It 
knew  that  a  foolish  and  unnatural  thing 
was  being  done  to  it,  and  it  raised  its  little 
voice  in  protest.  But  that  didn't  bring 
them  numskulls  to  reason;  oh,  no;  they 
proceeded  with  their  fruitless  task,  and  fin- 
ished it,  too,  although  nearly  every  babe 
there  raised  its  little  voice  and  had  to  be 
took  out.  There  was  seven  infants  baptized 
34 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

that  day."  (The  congregation  looked 
serious.) 

"  I  left  that  there  temple  of  Mammon, 
and  come  away  quite  roused  and  heated 
over  the  thought  of  all  the  foolishness  that 
had  been  perpetrated  since  the  world  was 
created,  and  is  being  perpetrated  yet,  even 
in  this  civilized  age.  But  it  come  over  me 
that  as  I  hadn't  had  a  finger  in  the  creation, 
I  needn't  trouble  myself  if  things  did  go 
topsy-turvy.  It  would  be  all  the  same  a 
hundred  years  hence.  So  I  cooled  down 
again. 

"  I  thank  God  "  (raising  his  eyes  to  the 
ceiling)  "  that  my  children  never  saw, 
much  less  partook,  of  the  mockery  of  infant 
baptism.  Through  the  wisdom  of  their 
natural  guardians  they  were  saved  from 
that  ordeal. 

"  I  lost  a  little  girl,  once ;  she  never  was 
baptized;  she  went  to  heaven  without  it. 
Now  some  would  think  that  was  awful  to 
allow  an  unbaptized  child  to  die.  But  Tm 
thankful  to  say  the  water  of  the  baptismal 
font  never  touched  her.  When  I  stood  be- 
side her  little  grave — she  was  the  oldest  of 
35 


Windy  Creek 

my  little  girls,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had 
lost  the  only  thing  I  cared  for  on  earth.  I 
didn't  care  to  live.  I  tell  you  the  earth 
looked  black  to  me;  and  the  future  looked 
black.  But  the  worst  moment  of  all  come 
when  they  was  filling  up  the  grave,  when 
the  first  clods  of  dirt  fell  on  the  coffin  that 
held  my  little  girl.  Then  it  just  seemed  like 
— my  heart — broke." 

Mr.  Crimp  stopped  and  swallowed  hard. 
His  face  reddened  and  a  moisture  suffused 
his  eyes.  The  room  had  grown  very  still. 
Then  Rose  Rooney  burst  into  noisy  weep- 
ing. The  women  put  their  aprons  to  their 
eyes.  Mothers  pressed  their  infants  closer 
to  their  bosoms.  In  a  husky  voice,  Mr. 
Crimp  resumed: 

"  It  was  years  before  I  could  revisit  that 
little  grave  of  mine  again.  But  I  felt  re- 
signed. There  wasn't  a  moment  from  the 
first,  in  fact,  that  I  didn't  feel  resigned. 
It's  a  blessed  feeling,  that  feeling  of  resig- 
nation. But  it's  only  a  Christian  that  can 
experience  it.  '  He  tempers  the  wind  to  the 
shorn  lamb.'  Them  are  the  most  comfort- 
ing words  in  the  whole  Bible,  and  the  truest. 

36 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

A  lamb  that's  sheared  is  a  very  tender 
creature,  you  know.  David  couldn't  have 
thought  of  a  prettier  comparison — the  lamb 
shorn  of  its  wool  and  the  bereaved  parent 
shorn  of  his  child.  The  Sam  that  that's  in, 
is  my  favor-ite.  It  was  my  mother's  favor- 
ite too. 

*'  I've  only  got  to  shut  my  eyes  "  (assum- 
ing a  beatified  expression)  *'  and  I  see  my 
little  girl's  pure  spirit  and  glorified  body  on 
the  shining  sands,  among  the  blessed. 

"  Speaking  of  the  glorified  body  "  (wak- 
ing up  suddenly  to  toss  over  the  leaves  of 
the  Bible),  "  I  refer  you  to  the  first  chapter 
of  the  first  book  of  Revelations.  I  want  to 
read  a  few  verses  to  you  on  this  wonderful 
subject;  they're  appropriate  on  an  occasion 
of  immersion.  In  immersion  we're  cleansed 
from  our  sins,  you  know,  and  in  death  we'ie 
cleansed  from  our  earthly  bodies  and  given 
the  glorified  body.  Now  this  is  how  the 
revelator  describes  one  of  these  here  glori- 
fied bodies. 

'''And  in  the  midst  of  the  seven  candle- 
sticks one  like  unto  the  Son  of  Man,  clothed 
with  a  garment  down  to  the  foot,  and  girt 
about  the  paps  with  a  golden  girdle, 
37 


Windy  Creek 

'^ '  His  head  and  his  hairs  were  white  like 
wool,  as  white  as  snow;  and  his  eyes  were 
as  a  flame  of  fire. 

*' '  And  his  feet  like  unto  fine  brass,  as  if 
they  burned  in  a  furnace;  and  his  voice  as 
the  sound  of  many  waters. 

'"And  he  had  in  his  right  hand  seven 
stars:  and  out  of  his  mouth  went  a  sharp, 
two-edged  sword:  and  his  countenance  was 
as  the  sun  shineth  in  his  strength.' '' 

Closing  the  book,  Mr.  Crimp  laid  it  back 
on  the  desk  and  went  on: 

"  The  revelator  points  to  the  glorified 
body  that  the  Christian  is  going  to  receive 
in  the  next  life.  It's  the  Universalist  idea, 
you  know,  that  of  the  glorified  body.  My 
mother's  people  was  all  Universalists,  and 
I  was  raised  among  those  kind  of  ideas. 
Why,  my  Cousin  Carrie  and  I  had  a  conver- 
sation on  that  very  subject  just  the  other 
day.  It's  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  think 
that  when  I  get  to  heaven,  /  shall  be  like 
Jesus,  in  the  glorified  body.  That's  what 
the  Universalists  believe,  you  know.  I've 
got  in  mind  another  instance  of  the  glorified 
body.    I  suppose  you  remember  the  sermon 

38 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

I  preached  to  you  on  the  transfiggeration, 
when  Christ  stood  on  the  mount  in  a  trans- 
figgered  form,  and  Moses  and  EHas  come 
and  stood  by  him,  also  transfiggered  ? 
Christ's  body  was  glorified  in  that  vision. 
Now,  I  look  at  this  different  from  most  stu- 
dents of  the  Bible.  It  isn't  generally  known 
or  thought  of  that  this  scene  of  the  trans- 
figgeration was  heaven,  but  it  was  heaven, 
come  right  down  and  settled  on  the  top  of 
the  mount,  there;  and  the  three  disciples, 
Peter,  James,  and  John,  saw  right  into 
heaven.  Whenever  there  was  a  glorified 
body  descended  to  this  earth,  that  was 
heaven  right  around  it.  And  this  vision  of 
the  transfiggeration,  this  was  a  typical  vi- 
sion. The  three  figgers,  Moses,  Elias,  and 
Christ,  these  stood  for  three  types;  Moses 
stood  for  the  body  dead,  buried,  and  living. 
Christ  for  the  body,  dead,  buried,  and  resur- 
rected ;  and  Elias  for  the  body  neither  dead 
nor  buried  nor  yet  resurrected,  but  living. 
I've  sometimes  thought  of  writing  a  com- 
mentary on  this  subject,  or  a  treatise  or 
something;  it's  a  very  absorbing  subject  to 
me.  Here  they  are;  the  type  of  life  and 
39 


Windy  Creek 

the  type  of  death,  and  the  type  of  resurrec- 
tion. The  Christian  is  another  type  of  the 
glorified  body,  though  our  earthly  eyes  can't 
see  the  glory  of  it  till  we  get  to  heaven,  but 
it's  there,  all  the  same.  Now,  what  had  the 
Christian  ought  to  wear  outside  of  him  ?  " 

As  the  preacher  put  this  question,  intend- 
ing to  answer  it  himself  after  an  oratorical 
pause,  a  young  man  said  in  a  stage  whisper, 
"  Clothes ! "  and  looked  around  for  ap- 
proval. But  no  one  laughed.  Mr.  Post 
turned  full  abput  in  his  seat  and  transfixed 
the  offender  with  a  frowning  eye.  Mr. 
Crimp,  ignoring  the  interruption,  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  Did  you  notice  in  the  verses  I  read,  the 
revelator  speaks  of  the  vision  as  clothed 
from  head  to  foot?  Yes,  his  feet  and  even 
his  hands  was  covered.  And  you  know 
that  the  high-priest  in  the  sanctuary  was 
always  clothed  from  head  to  foot,  likewise. 
Well,  the  garment  that  was  wore  by  the 
high-priest  stood  for  what  the  Christian 
had  ought  to  be  covered  with  now — the 
garment  of  the  life  of  Christ.  The  outside 
of  him  had  ought  to  be  covered  with  this 
40 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

garment  from  head  to  foot,  if  he  is  a  Chris- 
tian. The  inside  of  the  Christian  some- 
times gets  contrary "  (with  a  knowing 
smile),  "but  the  outside  must  be  all  right. 
The  first  duty  of  the  Christian  is  to  set  a 
good  example,  and  he  can't  do  it  without 
the  garment  that  I  speak  of. 

"  It  takes  a  scholar  to  get  into  the  truths 
of  the  Book  of  Revelations."  (With  unc- 
tion.) "These  college  professors  go  deep 
into  the  subject.  There  was  two  of  them, 
friends  of  mine,  that  used  to  pore  over  it 
half  the  night,  and  teach  school  all  next 
day,  besides.  It's  the  great  thinkers  that 
read  this  book. 

"  In  the  fourteenth  verse  it  speaks  of  the 
white  wool  on  the  top  of  the  head;  don't 
that  point  to  the  white  hairs  of  old  age? 
Scientists  have  discovered  that  deep  think- 
ers get  gray  early  in  life;  and  don't  it 
take  a  deep  thinker  to  understand  the 
Book  of  Revelations  ?  I've  noticed  that  it's 
the  old,  gray-headed  men  that  take  pleasure 
in  reading  the  Book  of  Revelations.  My 
grandfather  used  to  pore  over  it;  he  was 
raised  a  Quaker.  When  I  was  a  little 
41 


Windy  Creek 

codger,  so  high,  I  used  to  love  to  listen  to 
my  grandfather  read  from  Revelations ;  and 
it's  always  had  greater  attractions  for  me 
than  any  other  book  in  the  Bible — I  guess 
that's  the  reason  why  my  hair  is  gettin' 
gray.  I  guess  I'll  leave  it  get  gray — I  won't 
dye  it." 

Mr.  Crimp  facetiously  ran  his  fingers 
through  the  grayish  stubble  on  his  compact 
head,  and  the  congregation  laughed.  That 
his  audience  was  entirely  sympathetic,  went 
far  toward  proving  Mr.  Crimp's  merit  as  a 
preacher:  it  listened  attentively,  it  re- 
sponded quickly  to  his  changes  of  mood,  it 
always  laughed  in  the  right  place. 

"  I've  always  been  thankful  that  I  was 
born  with  a  logical  mind,"  said  Mr.  Crimp. 
The  audience  gushed  its  approval.  ''  It's  a 
pleasure  to  be  able  to  sum  up  your  points 
and  have  a  reason  for  everything  at  your 
tongue's  end.  It  ain't  everybody  that's 
gifted  that  way.  But  logic  kind  of  runs  in 
our  family.  I  get  it  from  my  mother's  side 
of  the  house.  Pa  was  a  pretty  smart  man 
to  talk  to,  in  his  young  days,  but  he  wasn't 
brainy,  like  my  mother.  Some  have  said  to 
42 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

me  that  I  missed  my  vocation  when  I  took 
up  with  preachin' — I  had  ought  to  'sl  been 
a  lawyer.  I  don't  think  so.  I  might  have 
made  a  pretty  good  livin'  at  the  law ;  there's 
no  doubt  but  what  I  could:  but  the  field 
wasn't  wide  enough  for  me.  No;  I  chose 
the  ups  and  downs  of  the  preacher's  life; 
and  beyond  and  above  that,  I  struck  out  in- 
to country  districts,  where  my  talents  could 
have  free  play.  I  wasn't  to  be  bound  down 
by  the  laws  and  regulations  of  no  city 
church.  Perhaps  some  of  you  good  people 
here  don't  know  I  refused  a  five-thousand- 
dollar  salary  as  pastor  of  the  first  Christian 
church  that  was  erected  in  the  Springs,  so's 
I  could  accept  a  call  to  Windy  Crick." 

Mr.  Flieger  turned  himself  about  and 
nodded  at  the  audience  with  triumph  in  his 
eye. 

"  It's  been  a  life-long  habit  of  mine  to 
keep  a  lookout  for  causes  of  failure.  I've 
often  profited  by  others'  mistakes  by  study- 
in'  how  they  might  have  prevented  'em,  and 
then  followin'  out  that  principle  myself. 
So,  as  a  student  of  the  Bible,  it's  a  favor-ite 
pastime  of  mine  to  search  the  Scriptures 
43 


Windy  Creek 

for  the  cause  of  this  apostle's  failure  or  that 
apostle's  failure.  As  I'm  one  of  the  called, 
I  reason  that  I've  got  as  good  a  right  to 
study  how  to  promote  the  Gospel  as  one  of 
these  here  apostles :  and  if  I  can  learn  any- 
thing from  their  blunders,  I'll  do  it. 

"  In  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  Paul  goes 
to  Greece  to  preach  to  the  people  of  that 
country,  you  know.  The  inhabitants  was 
Pagans:  that  is,  they  believed  in  gods  and 
goddesses.  They  worshipped  Jupiter  and 
Venus  and  Mercury  and  Plato  and  two  or 
three  hundred  others  of  them  fancy  beings. 
Jupiter  was  the  God  of  Thunder,  Mercury 
was  the  God  of  Lightning,  Venus  the 
Goddess  of  Beauty,  and  Cupid  the  God 
of  Love "  (there  was  a  titter  from  the 
young  people),  "  and  Plato,  he  guarded  the 
gates  of  Hell — like  Peter  at  the  gate  of 
Heaven,  only  Peter's  got  a  cooler  situa- 
tion." (Laughter.)  "All  these  was  imag- 
inary gods.  It  must  have  took  a  lot  of 
imagination  to  think  up  all  these  here  gods 
and  goddesses,  but  the  Greeks  has  always 
been  chock  full  of  that  commodity.  That's 
where  I  get  my  vein  of  imagination.  The 
44 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

Greeks  was  a  noble  race.  For  all  their 
idolatrousness,  they  was  far  more  civilized 
than  people  is  now,  and  powerful,  rich,  and 
handsome,  besides.  The  proudest  moment 
of  my  life  is  when  I  remember  that  I  was 
born  a  Greek.  On  my  mother's  side  of  the 
house,  there's  as  pure  a  streak  of  Grecian 
blood  as  you  could  find  anywheres.  My 
mother  was  a  noble  woman;  she  bore  the 
pure  Greek  name  of  Helen.  Her  grand- 
father, my  great-grandfather,  sailed  direct 
from  A-thens  in  the  early  part  of  this  cen- 
tury. His  given  name  was  Sophocles,  which 
name  has  been  the  proud  inheritance  of 
most  of  the  male  descendants  in  our  family. 
It  was  give  to  me  by  my  grandfather,  and 
I  give  it  to  my  only  son,  there.  Did  you 
ever  hear  that  old  fable  where  an  assembly 
of  all  the  animals  mocked  at  the  lion  be- 
cause he  had  only  one  whelp,  and  the  lion 
says :  '  One,  but  a  lion! '  Well,  that's  about 
the  way  I  always  felt  about  my  having  got 
only  the  one  boy ;  and  I  have  a  way  of  say- 
ing: 'One,  but  a  Crimp!'  The  Crimps 
always  had  plenty  of  family  pride.  The 
name  of  Sophocles  come  from  Sophocles, 
45 


Windy  Creek 

the  Greek  poet  and  playwright.  There's  a 
story  that  our  family  is  descended  direct 
from  old  Sophocles,  himself.  I  can't  say 
how  true  it  is,  but  it's  a  pleasant  thing  to 
contemplate.  Did  you  ever  stop  to  think 
what  an  attractive  place  heaven  must  be, 
peopled,  as  it  were,  by  all  the  great  men  of 
the  world  that  we  read  about,  counting 
away  back  to  old  Adam's  time?  Why, 
when  I  get  to  thinking  about  it,  I  can't 
hardly  contain  myself  till  I  get  to  heaven 
and  get  to  walk  the  streets  with  those  old 
philosophers  of  the  Grecian  race — whose 
blood  flows  in  my  veins — and  converse  with 
them  on  familiar,  every-day  topics.  What 
a  privilege !  what  a  blessed  privilege ! 

"  Perhaps  you've  noticed  that  I  pronounce 
the  name  of  the  town  where  Paul  went  to, 
A-thens.  That's  the  way  the  Greeks  pro- 
nounce the  name  of  their  town.  I  intend  to 
stick  by  it,  as  I  certainly  have  a  right  to, 
bein'  of  Greek  extraction,  though  it  ain't 
generally  given  that  pronunciation  in  this 
country. 

"  I  started  out  to  tell  you  about  Paul,  and 
strayed  from  my  subject,  as  I  always  do 
46 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

when  I  get  to  talking  about  the  country  of 
my  ancestors.  Paul,  as  you'll  notice  if 
you'll  read  the  Book  of  Acts,  had  went  to 
Greece  on  a  preaching  tour.  He  visited 
Thessalonica,  which  was  a  town  some'eres 
in  the  north  of  Greece,  and  then  he  went  to 
A-thens.  When  Paul  saw  the  idolatrous- 
ness  of  the  people  in  that  city,  he  was  fired 
with  a  spirit  of  righteous  wrath.  He  ex- 
postulated with  them,  and  stirred  up  re- 
sentment against  himself,  and  so  lost  his 
popularity.  He  wasn't  politic  enough.  A 
certain  amount  of  policy,  now,  is  as  neces- 
sary in  religion  as  it  is  in  business  "  (wrin- 
kling his  brow  into  a  smile).  "That's  one 
of  my  fads ;  and  it's  a  pretty  good  fad,  too. 
Then  the  Epicureans  and  the  Stoics,  they 
went  for  him,  and  asked  him  questions,  just 
to  get  into  an  argument  with  him  and  mix 
him  up.  Those  old  Greeks  was  always  up 
to  that — so  brainy.  You  couldn't  find  a 
race  on  the  face  of  the  earth  that  was  fonder 
of  an  argument.  The  Epicureans  was  the 
kind  of  philosopher  that  was  particular 
about  their  eating.  They  spent  eleven 
hours  at  the  table,  nine  in  bed,  and  four  at 
47 


Windy  Creek 

the  bath.  They  never  eat  anything  that  was 
stale  or  inferior,  and  they  never  looked  at 
an  article  of  food  unless  it  cost  a  pretty  sum 
of  money.  They  never  touched  a  thing  on 
their  table  unless  the  servant  had  washed 
his  hands  seven  times  afore  he  had  touched 
it.  In  consequence  of  all  these  finicky  ways 
of  theirs,  they  never  contracted  either  gout 
or  dyspepsia,  and  they  was  as  long-lived  as 
the  best  of  'em.  Their  name  '  Epicurean ' 
come  from  a  Greek  word  meaning  '  eat ' ; 
notice  how  the  letter  '  e '  is  the  only  letter 
left  of  the  root  to  tell  us  where  our  word 
'  eat '  is  derived  from.  The  name  '  Stoic  ' 
come  from  a  Greek  word  meaning  *  stone.'  " 
Mr.  Crimp  stepped  to  the  blackboard  and 
wrote  with  flourishing  chalk: 

Lo-TTjfjLc — ^to  stay,  stand  still. 
i(TT(o — a  stone. 
(TTOLK — stoic. 

"  Our  word  '  stone '  is  derived  from  all 
three  of  them  words.  And  the  Stoics  was 
them  stony-hearted  kind  that  didn't  believe 
in  showing  any  feeling  or  emotion.  They 
never  let  on  that  they  cared  when  any  of 
48 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

their  relations  died.  It  would  be  mighty 
convenient,  wouldn't  it,  to  be  that  kind  of 
a  philosopher  when  your  mother-in-law 
died,  because  no  one  would  expect  you 
to  shed  tears?"  (Laughter.)  "But  the 
Stoics  have  gone  out  of  fashion.  They 
never  laughed  at  a  joke,  neither.  They  was 
descended  from  the  Spartans. 

"  Well,  Paul,  he  kep'  on,  arguing  and  ex- 
postulating, until,  first  thing  he  knew,  the 
place  got  too  hot  for  him.  If  he  hadn't  a' 
left  when  he  did,  he  would  'a'  been  fired 
out  of  the  town.  The  only  converts  he 
made  was  a  man  and  a  lady,  and  a  few 
others  not  named — not  enough  to  shake  a 
stick  at.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  for 
Paul  to  own  up  that  his  revival  had  been  a 
failure.  He  as  much  as  owned  it,  too,  when 
he  said  he'd  had  enough  of  the  Greeks :  he'd 
shake  off  their  dust,  and  go  to  the  Gentiles. 

"  I  fancy  Paul  learnt  something  from  his 
failure  in  A-thens.  In  the  other  towns  that 
he  put  up  at,  he  used  more  policy,  and  you'll 
notice,  if  you  read  your  Bible,  he  got  to 
be  quite  a  popular  fellow  in  time.  But  he 
dumb  a  tree  when  he  went  to  A-thens. 
49 


Windy  Creek 

"Now,  what  was  Paul's  failure  in 
A-thens  due  to?  Paul's  failure  in  A-thens 
was  due  to  his  neglect  of  the  ordinance  of 
baptism!"  (Mr.  Flieger  cast  an  inex- 
pressible look  over  his  shoulder.)  "  If  you 
read  this  chapter  when  you  go  home — it's 
the  seventeenth  chapter  of  the  Book  of  Acts 
— you  won't  find  a  word  about  baptism  in 
the  whole  of  Paul's  sojourn  in  A-thens.  I 
guess  he  got  tired  of  taking  so  much 
trouble  with  his  converts,  or  mebbe  he  tried 
to  slip  out  of  work  by  sprinklin'  a  few  drops 
of  water  out  of  a  silver  cake-plate  onto  the 
tops  of  their  heads."  (Laughter.)  "At 
any  rate,  a  slip-shod  ministry  like  that  didn't 
work,  and  it  was  the  cause  of  his  failure. 
He  didn't  tumble  to  it  at  first;  but  I  fancy 
he  did  afterwards,  because  I  notice  he  give 
more  immersions  at  the  other  places  he  went 
to.  Paul  had  his  trip  to  A-thens  for  noth- 
ing. If  he  had  took  this  man  and  this  lady 
out  to  the  sea,  or  out  into  some  pond  of 
water,  and  baptized  them  before  all  the  peo- 
ple, Paul  would  'a'  had  more  applicants  for 
baptism  on  the  spot  than  he  could  handle. 
He'd  have  had  to  hire  an  assistant.  He'd 
50 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

have  touched  the  people's  hearts.  They 
couldn't  'a'  stood  by  and  looked  on  at  that 
solemn  rite  with  hardened  hearts.  It 
wouldn't  'a'  been  in  nature.  I  tell  you,  I've 
sometimes  wished  that  I'd  'a'  lived  in  those 
times.  I  wouldn't  have  let  Paul  go  out  of 
A-thens  without  giving  him  a  pointer  or 
two.  The  trouble  with  Paul  was,  he  didn't 
understand  human  nature.  More  than  that, 
he  didn't  understand  himself.  Tv&dc  aeav- 
t6v  so  the  Greeks  say.  That  means, '  Know 
thyself.'  Paul  was  fond  of  telling  others 
to  know  themselves,  but  he  didn't  know 
himself,  not  by  a  jugful.  Perhaps  Paul  got 
a  little  rattled  while  he  was  at  A-thens,  on 
account  of  his  sore  eyes.  We  mustn't  be 
too  hard  on  him.  You  know,  Paul  speaks 
of  his  '  thorn  in  the  flesh '  that  he  was  af- 
flicted with;  the  thorn  he  had  reference  to 
was  his  sore  eyes.  Perhaps  you  didn't 
know  that  Paul  never  pretended  to  write 
his  epistles  himself;  he  couldn't  half  see; 
he  hired  an  amanuensis. 

"  Some  bring  up  as  an  argument  against 
immersion  that  Peter  couldn't  have  baptized 
three  thousand  souls  in  a  single  day,  as  he 
SI 


Windy  Creek 

is  said  to  have  done  some'eres  in  Acts. 
They  say  Peter  must  have  sprinkled  'em. 
These  skeptics  seem  to  have  an  idea  that  it 
takes  time  to  immerse.  Well,  so  it  does,  if 
you  have  a  small  crowd  and  stop  to  do  up 
all  the  ceremonials.  Anything  takes  time  if 
you  string  it  out.  But  it  can  be  done  quick, 
and  I  can  prove  it.  I  know  of  one  immer- 
sion that  was  put  through  in  double-quick 
time.  When  I  conducted  that  revival  down 
at  Kiawa,  the  converts  come  so  thick  and 
fast  that  I  got  to  be  quite  an  expert — soused 
'em  at  the  rate  of  three  per  minute." 
(Laughter.) 

"  Before  I  close  I  mean  to  give  you  in 
Greek  what  the  eunuch  said  to  Philip  and 
what  Philip  answered.  As  Greek  was  the 
tongue  they  spoke,  and  the  tongue  that  the 
New  Testament  was  wrote  in  before  it  was 
translated,  you  can  form  an  idea  of  their 
conversation  as  they  rode  along  in  the  car- 
riage together.  It'll  bring  the  scene  home 
to  you. 

"  When  they  come  to  the  pool  of  water, 
the  eunuch  said,  '  Idoo  hoodoar;  tie  koloo- 
aye  me  baptisthayneyef  which  is,  trans- 
52 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

lated,  '  Here  is  water ;  what  doth  hinder  me 
to  be  baptized  ? ' 

"And  Philip  answered,  'Aye  pitzooice 
eks  hollace  tace  kardiass  eksetdn/  And 
the  translation  of  that  is,  'If  thou  believest 
with  all  thine  heart,  thou  mayest/ 

"  When  I  was  at  college,  I  learnt  the 
Greek  language;  it's  a  noble  tongue.  It's 
been  a  great  lift  to  me  in  my  study  of  the 
Bible. 

"  Well !  weVe  got  a  long  ride  before  us 
to  Bittern's  sheep-pond,  and  I  must  cut  my 
sermon  short,  or  some  of  us'll  be  wantin' 
our  dinner.  The  subject  of  immersion  is  a 
deep  one,  a  profound  one,  and  I  only  regret 
that  lack  of  time  prevents  me  from  doing 
justice  to  it.  I'll  ask  you,  my  good  friends, 
to  accompany  myself  and  these  converts  at 
the  close  of  the  services,  to  Bittern's  sheep- 
pond,  where  the  solemn  rite  of  immersion 
will  be  performed  without  delay.  I  think 
it'll  be  most  direct  for  us  to  go  in  a  body 
across  the  school  section.  Some  of  you 
men  c'n  let  down  the  wires  at  the  furthest 
corner,  so's  we  c'n  drive  straight  across  to 
the  pond  without  going  around  by  the 
road." 

53 


Windy  Creek 

The  congregation  stirred;  the  rustle  and 
flutter  that  follows  the  closing  of  an  address 
broke  in  on  the  quiet  of  the  room. 

Mr.  Crimp  slightly  inclined  his  head  and 
closed  his  eyes. 

*'  Great  God,"  he  said,  in  calm  and  equa- 
ble tones,  "  we  thank  Thee  for  the  converts 
that  have  been  brought  into  the  fold 
through  the  preaching  of  Thy  servant  and 
apostle.  We  thank  Thee  that  Thou  hast 
preserved  them  from  the  wiles  of  other 
sects,  blinded  by  conceit  and  ignorance,  and 
teaching  foolishness  to  their  followers. 
Bless  this  little  flock  of  converts ;  keep  them 
in  the  paths  of  righteousness;  bless  their 
families.  We  thank  Thee  for  the  fair 
weather  that  Thou  hast  sanctified  this  oc- 
casion with.  Attend  us  to  the  scene  of  im- 
mersion, and  consecrate  the  sacred  rite  to 
these  children  in  the  faith;  re-consecrate  us 
older  members  of  Thy  great  and  blessed 
family.  We  ask  it  in  Thy  name.  Amen  and 
amen." 

Mr.  Crimp  reached  out  for  the  hymn- 
book  on  the  desk,  but  delayed  opening  it. 
A  smile  played  about  his  mouth  and  brought 
54 


A  Campbellite  Sermon 

out  the  crows'- feet  around  the  corners  of  his 
eyes. 

"  Perhaps  you  wonder  why  I  repeat  the 
word  '  amen '  twice.  I  don't  mind  enlight- 
ening you.  I  generally  have  a  reason  for 
everything  I  do,  and  I  have  a  reason  for 
this.  Now,  the  ancient  Hebrew  meaning  of 
the  word  *  amen '  was  '  So  help  me  God.' 
The  Greeks  render  it  '  So  do  Thou  protect 
me  and  mine  ' ;  while  the  Saxon  cuts  off  the 
original  meaning  and  leaves  it  plain  '  So  be 
it,'  besides  making  it  one  of  the  shortest 
words  in  our  language.  I  feel  the  impor- 
tance of  this  little  word  to  be  weightier  than 
most  ministers  and  students  of  the  Bible 
do,  and  I  think  I  better  the  expression  and 
render  it  more  important  by  making  a 
repetition  of  the  word :  *  Amen  and  amen.'  " 


55 


Ill 

THE    IMMERSION 

A  general  scramble  followed  the  benedic- 
tion. Men  hurried  to  get  out  their  teams. 
Women  seized  the  opportunity  to  exchange 
items  of  gossip  while  jamming  little  sun- 
bonnets  over  babies'  faces.  Near  the  door, 
the  young  people  drifted  together ;  red,  em- 
barrassed youths,  twirling  their  sombreros 
in  their  hands;  girls  smiling  and  self-con- 
scious. Three  or  four  young  men  clustered 
about  the  pretty  sisters  at  Soph  Crimp's 
side.  These  girls  with  flower-like  faces,  so 
slenderly  formed,  were  as  unlike  as  could 
be  to  the  buxom  variety  of  damsel  abound- 
ing on  Windy  Creek.  They  were  pictures ; 
the  one  in  red  calico  and  ribbons,  the  other 
in  blue.  One  was  wild  as  a  gypsy ;  a  gentle 
dignity,  inborn,  marked  the  other.  To  the 
boys  their  easy,  taking  manners  were  irre- 
sistible. But  in  spite  of  masculine  attention, 


The  Immersion 

the  two  strangers  of  their  own  sex  were 
remembered,  and  the  sisters  came  up  smil- 
ing to  shake  hands.  Ruth  Wood  introduced 
them  to  her  cousin  as  Diantha  and  Estelle 
Bittern. 

"You  girls  must  come  over.  I  and 
Stelle  'd  be  right  glad  to  have  you  come  out 
and  spend  the  day/'  said  Diantha ;  she  had 
the  soft  negro  tones  of  the  **  way-down  " 
Southerner.  She  looked  down  at  Ruth 
from  her  queenly  height.  "  You're  lookin' 
right  peart-like,  Ruth ;  I  'low  you'll  git  well 
if  you  stay  out  chur  long." 

"  And  how  well  you  are  looking,  Dian- 
tha!" 

Ruth's  tone  of  admiration  deepened  the 
pink  color  in  the  girl's  cheek,  but  she  re- 
plied, deprecatingly :  "  I'm  jest  toler'ble.  I 
don't  look  it  in  the  face,  but  I'm  consider'- 
ble  porer  than  what  I  was  last  chur." 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  immersed  to-day  ?  " 
asked  Ruth. 

"  No,  but  my  two  married  sisters  aim  to 

be,  and  my  brother-in-law,  Viny's  husband, 

if  he   don't  git  scairt  out  o'  the  notion. 

Viny's  been  sayin'  she  darsn't  trust  Joel 

57 


Windy  Creek 

out  of  her  sight,  she's  that  feared  he'll  back 
out.  Ever  sence  he  was  converted  she's 
had  to  keep  bolsterin'  him  up,  like.  Come 
over,  and  I'll  make  you  acquainted  with  my 
sisters." 

Diantha's  two  sisters  had  married  broth- 
ers, who,  beyond  the  family  name  of  Milli- 
gan,  had  obviously  had  little  else  in  the  way 
of  worldly  goods  to  endow  the  women  of 
their  choice.  Three  fretful  babies  clung  to 
the  skirts  of  Malvina,  whose  fading  youth 
and  jaded  looks  were  due  to  her  heavy  bur- 
den of  work  and  want  and  care.  Maggie, 
having  passed  but  two  mile-stones  since  her 
bridal  day,  was  not  yet  come  to  her  sister's 
stage  of  nervous  exhaustion;  but  already 
her  feverish  color  and  worried  eye  told 
whither  she  was  bound.  Life  is  hard  on 
the  women  of  Windy  Creek,  and  youth  is 
transient. 

While  Hermia  chatted  easily  with  the 
married  sisters,  and  noticed  the  babies, 
Diantha  was  taking  in  the  stranger;  she 
presently  whispered  to  Ruth,  who  had  much 
ado  to  keep  a  straight  face,  that  her  cousin 
was  awful  nice — she  was  quite  a  rowdy, 
wasn't  she? 

58 


The  Immersion 

They  spoke  of  the  afternoon's  ceremony. 

"  Wish't  you  and  Dianthy  had  got  con- 
verted last  Sunday,  so's  you  could  be  bap- 
tized 'long  of  us,"  said  Maggie. 

"  Sha'n't  risk  my  life  bein'  ducked  in  no 
sheep-pond ! "  flashed  Estelle.  She  had 
nothing  to  say  for  herself,  but  when  spoken 
to,  her  words  came  out  like  explosives ;  her 
voice  was  hoarse,  not  soft  like  Diantha's; 
she  twisted  and  untwisted  her  little  brown 
fingers,  her  eyes  danced,  and  color  and 
dimples  flew  into  her  speaking  face. 

Mr.  Crimp,  shaking  hands  to  right  and 
left,  shouldered  his  way  into  the  circle. 

"  Them  are  awful  bad  girls !  Been  a-try- 
in'  to  bring  'em  into  the  church  these  five 
months,  and  still  they  keep  a-hangin'  back. 
Encouragin'  to  a  minister  of  the  gospel, 
ain't  it  ?    Afraid  of  the  water,  eh  ?  " 

The  preacher  brought  his  pastoral  speech 
to  a  close  by  pulling  a  lock  of  Diantha's  hair 
and  chucking  Estelle  under  the  chin. 

Estelle  laughed  out  with  pleasure. 

Mr.     Crimp,     gracefully    presented    by 
Diantha,  extended  a  hand  to  each  of  the 
strangers,  treating  them  to  a  bold  gaze. 
59 


Windy  Creek 

A  great  red  hand  descended  over  Ruth's 
shoulder,  and  above  it  the  whiskered  coun- 
tenance of  Mr.  Flieger  beamed  like  the  set- 
ting sun  out  of  a  cloud. 

"  Have  to  come  out  to  the  plains  to  hear 
a  sermon  like  that,  don't  ye?  We  never 
knowed  what  preachin'  was  till  Brother 
Crimp  come  out  here.  He  don't  preach 
every-day  sermons.  Brother  Crimp  don't — 
he's  college-l'arn'd." 

Rose  Rooney  went  quietly  out,  leading 
her  children  by  the  hand,  and  taking  no  no- 
tice of  the  crowd  of  neighbors.  Her  eye 
gleamed  with  a  strange  excitement. 

Soon  an  odd  procession  wended  its  way 
across  the  school  section,  bound  for  Bit- 
tern's sheep-pond.  The  country  people  rode 
in  any  fashion,  some  in  farm  wagons,  some 
in  spring  wagons,  and  some  in  two-wheeled 
carts. 

Joel  Milligan  piled  his  wife  and  little 
ones  into  an  old  buggy  drawn  by  a  mule. 
The  Flieger's  surrey,  packed  to  overflowing 
with  the  women  and  children  of  the  family, 
lent  an  air  of  gentility  to  the  cavalcade: 
run-down,  rusty,  dilapidated,  sprinkled  with 
60 


The  Immersion 

dust  and  powdered  with  mud,  it  was  a  two- 
seated  carriage  for  all  that.  And  in  and  out 
circled  the  young  men,  sitting  erect  on 
broncos,  vicious  or  brow-beaten,  according 
to  the  manner  of  their  breaking~in. 

The  day  was  intensely  still:  not  a  breath 
of  wind  stirred  the  stratum  of  warm  air 
enveloping  the  earth;  heat-waves  rippled  at 
the  horizon.  Over  head  all  was  azure  blue, 
under  foot  all  tawny  yellow.  From  the  feet 
of  the  horses  far  out  to  the  limit  of  vision 
the  prairies  stretched,  a  harmony  in  yellow ; 
the  same  color  even  climbed  for  a  space  be- 
yond the  horizon,  for  a  golden  haze  ob- 
scured the  line  where  prairie  ended  and  sky 
began,  and  mellowed  the  mountains  lying 
far  removed  with  outlines  lost  and  tints  pale 
and  indistinct.  Far  off  on  the  bluffs  they 
saw  a  United  States  signal,  the  staff  mark- 
ing the  geodetic  survey  that  follows  the 
curve  of  the  thirty-ninth  parallel  from  coast 
to  coast,  a  work  begun  fifty  years  since,  and 
now  nearing  its  completion.  Looking  east- 
ward, the  plain  seemed  to  tremble,  and  lo, 
earth  was  melting  into  sky,  and  liquid  sky 
stealing  downward  into  earth,  taking  to  it- 
6i 


Windy  Creek 

self  the  form  of  a  broad  river,  its  blue 
waters  undulating  in  the  sun.  They  called 
to  one  another  to  look,  and  pointed.  But 
even  as  they  gazed,  the  phantom  river  re- 
ceded, and  the  earth  closed  up  its  gap,  and 
the  mirage  faded  from  their  sight. 

The  prairie  was  bleached,  the  thread-and- 
needle  and  all  manner  of  grasses  cured  by 
sun  and  wind.  The  grama  grass  grew 
knee-high;  its  slender  stems  topped  with 
seed-bearing  combs  looked  oddly  like  a 
colony  of  music-rests  settled  on  the  close- 
curled  tufts  below.  There  was  neither 
cactus  nor  sage-brush,  but  the  tumble-weed 
flourished  apace.  The  yucca  plant  encircled 
its  tall  flower-spikes,  now  gone  to  seed,  with 
a  frill  of  formidable  needles  of  a  dusty 
green.  Sunflowers  yellowed  the  prairie. 
Indian  paint-brushes  flamed  on  the  hillside. 
Close  to  the  ground  clustered  the  purple 
blooms  of  the  deadly  loco. 

A  myriad  of  insects  buzzed;  a  ground- 
squirrel  chirrupped;  prairie-dogs  waddled 
and  barked.  Little  birds  of  a  dull-black  hue, 
with  white  spots  on  their  wings,  poised 
themselves  in  the  air  and  sang,  and  sank  to 
62 


The  Immersion 

rise  again.  An  occasional  cotton-tail  darted 
from  its  burrow  and  scurried  away.  Along 
a  gentle  rise  a  jack-rabbit  loped,  bounding 
from  the  ground  in  long,  regular  leaps. 
Tiny  speckled  lizards  shot  across  their  path. 
Black  and  gray  spiders  leaped  to  their  dens, 
great  gauzy  webs  spun  across  holes  in  the 
ground. 

At  the  farther  corner  of  the  school  sec- 
tion the  men  drew  the  staples  and  lowered 
the  wires,  that  the  teams  might  pass  over. 
Descending  the  slope,  the  party  followed 
the  windings  of  a  narrow  ravine,  with  a 
stream  trickling  along  the  rift  at  the  bot- 
tom ;  and  they  presently  came  to  a  shallow 
bowl  of  clear  water.  Recent  floods  had 
washed  the  pool,  leaving  its  banks  ragged 
and  steep,  and  baring  the  twisted  roots  of 
a  stunted  growth  of  cotton-woods  that  had 
sprung  into  life  along  its  sides.  The  eye, 
fatigued  by  stretches  of  treeless  prairie, 
found  relief  in  the  slight  shade  flickering 
on  the  bank  and  in  the  water  below. 

Ruth  and  Hermia  sought  the  shelter  of 
the  trees  on  the  edge,  and,  looking  down, 
wondered  if  this  pool  resembled  the  "  cer- 
63 


Windy  Creek 

tain  water  "  where,  ages  ago,  the  Ethiopian 
had  been  baptized. 

In  awed  silence  the  people  gathered 
around;  they  spoke  in  whispers,  or  in  low- 
toned  murmurs;  even  the  children  were 
quiet;  the  men  uncovered.  The  Flieger 
family  formed  a  group  on  the  edge  of  the 
pool,  and  beyond  them  were  Malvina  and 
Maggie  Milligan  with  their  husbands  and 
children.  Malvina  nodded  back  reassuring- 
ly to  her  husband,  who  was  seen  to  be  a 
small  man  with  a  miserably  anxious  look 
and  a  restless  eye.  His  eldest  had  him  by 
the  hand — a  delicate,  stunted  boy,  whose 
face  reproduced  in  miniature  the  worried 
expression  of  the  parent. 

Mr.  Crimp  pulled  Mr.  Flieger  aside;  the 
two  held  a  whispered  consultation.  Mr. 
Crimp's  trousers  were  tucked  into  his  boots, 
and  he  wore  his  hat  a  little  on  one  side ;  he 
appeared  highly  elated  by  the  prospect  be- 
fore him.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  paper,  and 
from  this  he  read  in  a  loud  voice,  stepping 
forward  to  command  attention: 

"  Rose  Rooney,  aged  nineteen  years,  con- 
verted to  the  Christian  faith  and  accepted 
64 


The  Immersion 

the  doctrines  of  the  Christian  Church  Au- 
gust 12,  1894. 

"  Joel  Milligan,  aged  thirty-three  years, 
converted  August  26,  1894. 

*'  Elnora  Malvina  MiUigan,  aged  twenty- 
four  years,  converted  August  26,  1894. 

"  Margaret  Janet  MilHgan,  aged  twenty- 
one  years,  converted  August  26,  1894." 

The  preacher  placed  his  hat  on  the 
bank,  and  waded  out  into  the  pool,  cau- 
tiously feeling  for  a  level  bottom.  *'  Rose 
Rooney,''  he  called  loudly,  beckoning  with 
his  hands. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  Rose 
Rooney  pulled  off  her  sun-bonnet  and  tossed 
it  to  her  mother.  The  ruddy  color  had  died 
out  of  her  cheeks.  The  scanty  folds  of  her 
gray  gown  clung  to  her  tall  form,  showin£^ 
its  crude  but  artistic  outlines  like  a  sculpt- 
ured figure  half  chiselled.  She  clasped  the 
preacher's  outstretched  hands  and  stepped 
into  the  water  beside  him :  she  stood  waist- 
deep  ;  a  shiver  ran  through  her  frame ;  her 
eyes  were  wide  open  and  frightened,  like 
a  child's. 

Her  two  Uttle  children  crept  close  to  the 
65 


Windy  Creek 

edge,  breathless  with  curiosity,  staring 
round-eyed,  with  lips  apart. 

Their  mother  saw  neither  them  nor  the 
crowd  on  the  bank.  After  the  first  shock  of 
the  water,  a  rapt  and  dreamy  look  had  come 
into  her  eyes.  She  was  alone;  visionary 
ideas  of  salvation  and  of  another  world 
whose  boundaries  the  rite  of  immersion  was 
to  gain  for  her  filled  her  childish  soul  to 
the  oblivion  of  all  else. 

The  preacher,  raising  his  hands  heaven- 
ward, repeated  a  prayer. 

The  people  bowed  their  heads. 

"  Great  God,  sanctify  this  water  to  the 
mystical  washing  away  of  this  woman's  sin- 
ful affections.  Grant  that  this  water  may 
give  her  power  to  triumph  over  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil.  Grant  that  the  Old 
Adam  in  this  woman  may  be  buried." 

Mr.  Crimp's  version  of  the  baptismal  ser- 
vice appeared  to  be  adapted  from  the  Epis- 
copal form,  with  such  revisions  as  he  saw 
fit  to  make.  He  evidently  trusted  to  the 
chance  that  his  parishioners  would  not 
know  the  difference. 

A  convulsion  broke  over  the  features  of 
66 


The  Immersion 

the  convert;  she  clasped  her  rough  hands 
before  her  face,  and  trembled  and  cried; 
her  attitude  was  that  of  a  penitent.  Did  she 
grasp  the  meaning  of  the  vows  she  was 
about  to  take,  or  was  she  wrought  to  the 
pitch  of  nervous  excitement  by  an  awe- 
inspiring  ceremony? 

Her  agitation  thrilled  the  people.  The 
women  broke  into  sobs.  Mrs.  Flieger  wept 
aloud,  and  her  husband  groaned,  while  tears 
forced  themselves  underneath  his  closed 
eye-lids  and  coursed  down  his  cheeks.  Even 
Ruth  and  Hermia  Wood  succumbed  to  the 
passing  thrill  of  emotion. 

The  preacher  attempted  to  draw  away 
Rose  Rooney's  hands,  but,  as  if  in  terror, 
she  persisted  in  hiding  her  eyes.  He  then 
placed  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  and  ir 
resonant  tones  reciting  the  baptismal  form, 
he  drew  her  backward  until  the  water  bub- 
bled over  her  face  and  hair. 

"  Buried  with  Christ  in  baptism,  in  the 
name  of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy 
Ghost,  I  baptize  thee." 

The  convert  reappeared  on  the  surface, 
drenched,  gasping  for  breath,  her  lips  pur- 

67 


Windy  Creek 

pie,  her  chest  and  shoulders  heaving.  She 
turned  in  a  bewildered  way  to  the  bank. 
Some  one  struck  up  a  familiar  chorus,  and 
the  people  lifted  their  voices  and  sang, 

•*  Pull  for  the  shore,  sailor,  pull  for  the  shore ; 
Heed  not  the  rolling  waves,  but  bend  to  the  oar  t 
Safe   in   the  life-boat,   sailor,   cling  to   self   nd 

more  ; 
Leave  the  poor  old  stranded  wreck,  and  pull  fof 

the  shore." 

Rose  Rooney  climbed  shivering  out  of  the 
water.  Her  step-father  sprang  to  aid  her; 
his  kindly  features  wore  an  expression  of 
deep  concern;  he  threw  a  heavy  woollen 
shawl  over  her  shoulders,  and  hurried  her 
into  the  carriage. 

"Next!  Joel  Milligan!'*  shouted  Mr. 
Crimp. 

No  one  responded  to  the  call.  The  peo- 
ple on  the  bank  turned  around  and  looked 
at  the  people  behind  them ;  and  they  in  their 
turn  stared  at  those  in  the  rear.  There  was 
a  confused  whispering  and  nudging.  Mr. 
Post  sternly  elbowed  his  way  through  the 
crowd  until  he  confronted  the  scared  face 
of  Malvina  Milligan. 
6S 


The  Immersion 

"  Where's  that  man  o'  yourn  ?  " 

"  I  d'n  know ;  I  'lowed  he  was  hyur ;  I 
can't  think  whur  he's  took  hisself." 

"  Ain't  he  about  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Crimp, 
from  the  middle  of  the  pool,  and  several 
voices  replied,  "  No,  he  ain't." 

Jimmy  Rooney  thrust  himself  into  the 
midst  of  the  excited  crowd.  He  was  a  blue- 
eyed  boy  of  three  years;  his  hat,  in  close 
imitation  of  Mr.  Crimp's,  was  stuck  on  the 
side  of  his  head ;  and  his  sturdy  little  figure 
bristled  with  importance. 

"  I  seen  him !    J  seen  Joel  Milligan !  " 

An  interested  audience  collected. 

"  Where'd  he  go  to?    Where's  he  at?  " 

Jimmy  jerked  his  thumb  in  the  direction 
of  the  Milligan  claim. 

''  Over  yonder !  I  seen  him  kitin'  acros't 
the  prairie !  He  jist  hit  the  road !  " 

The  spell  was  broken;  the  people  parted 
into  knots  of  twos  and  threes;  everybody 
talked  aloud  at  once.  In  the  midst  of  the 
confusion,  Malvina  Milligan  lifted  her  chil- 
dren into  the  aged  family  buggy,  and 
jumped  in  after  them.  Several  voices  called 
to  detain  her.  She  shouted  back  her  inten- 
69 


Windy  Creek 

tion  of  finding  and  restoring  her  truant 
husband,  slapped  the  old  mule  with  the 
reins,  and  ambled  away;  she  was  soon  be- 
yond recall. 

Thus  it  befell  that  the  only  remaining 
candidate  for  baptism  was  Maggie  Milli- 
gan ;  but,  upon  being  importuned  to  come 
forth  and  enter  the  water,  she,  too,  hung 
back,  and  refused  to  be  baptized  without 
her  sister.  Not  even  when  Mr.  Crimp  him- 
self clambered  up  the  bank,  and  desired  her 
to  remember  her  vows,  and  attempt  to  lead 
her  down  into  the  water,  did  she  reverse 
her  decision,  but  stood  stubbornly  silent, 
with  burning  cheeks  and  tears  dropping 
from  her  eyes. 

Mr.  Crimp  sat  down  on  the  bank.  He 
looked  considerably  less  elated  than  half  an 
hour  since.  He  seemed  quite  out  of  humor 
from  the  way  he  slapped  the  water  out  of 
his  boots  and  thrashed  his  wet  trousers. 
But  the  fear  of  losing  his  popularity  soon 
made  him  think  better  of  his  pettishness; 
and  he  once  more  mingled  familiarly  with 
his  congregation,  contenting  himself  with 
indulging  in  little  pleasantries  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  faint-hearted  converts. 
70 


The  Immersion 

"  Tain't  very  pleasant  to  get  your 
breeches  wet  for  one  convert!  But  a  min- 
ister has  got  to  expect  such  things/'  said 
Mr.  Crimp. 

Neither  Joel  Milligan  nor  his  wife  Mal- 
vina  reappeared  on  the  scene,  and  the  peo- 
ple, grown  tired  of  waiting,  dispersed, 
leaving  the  valley  and  the  lonely  ravine  and 
the  quiet  pool  that  continually  emptied  its 
waters  into  the  sluggish  little  stream.  And 
all  the  little  animals  came  out  of  their  holes 
and  ran  about  in  the  golden  sunshine.  And 
the  myriad  inhabitants  of  the  prairie  went 
on  with  their  simple  existence,  untroubled 
by  the  illusions  and  the  emotions  and  the 
exaltations  of  their  human  neighbors  who 
came  to  visit  the  pool. 


71 


IV 

SPENDING    THE    DAY 

Confusion  reigned  among  the  elements 
in  the  days  that  followed  the  immersion  at 
Bittern's  sheep-pond.  Rising  in  the  middle 
of  the  morning,  with  a  frolic  among  the 
tumble-weeds  and  now  and  then  a  puff  of 
sand  in  the  eyes;  gathering  in  fury  as  the 
day  advanced,  obscuring  with  a  smoke-gray 
haze  mountains  and  sky,  and  thickening  the 
air  with  a  fine  brown  dust;  falling  at  dark 
to  leave  a  ghostly  stillness  in  its  wake;  in 
violent  gusts  in  the  night-time  often  renew- 
ing its  spent  forces:  so,  every  day  and  all 
day  long,  blew  the  wind  on  Windy  Creek. 
Monotony  wrapped  the  plains:  always  the 
same  blurring  of  roads  and  fences,  horizon 
and  mountains,  always  the  dim  figures  of 
patient  cattle  standing  motionless,  their 
backs  to  the  wind. 

72 


Spending  the  Day 

One  who  has  for  many  days  at  a  time  wit- 
nessed such  a  sullying  of  the  landscape,  felt 
the  rocking  of  the  frail  structure  that  shel- 
ters him,  listened  to  the  wild  shrieking  of 
the  wind  around  the  corner,  its  demoniac 
wailing  down  the  stove-pipe,  and  its  dismal 
moaning  within  the  building  paper,  can 
imagine  nothing  drearier: — it  is  then  that 
the  mind  reverts  to  the  old  geography  at 
school,  and  dwells  upon  the  lesson  of  that 
waste-land  known  as  the  Great  American 
Desert. 

A  morning  of  quiet  came  at  last,  and 
Ruth  and  Hermia  Wood  crossed  the  fields 
to  Rose  Rooney's  to  spend  the  day.  The 
naked  spots  between  the  grass  tufts  were 
swept  clean  of  every  grain  of  sand  as 
though  by  a  ruthless  broom.  Brushed  by 
their  skirts,  the  dried  flower-heads  and 
weeds  and  blades  of  grass  shook  off  little 
showers  of  dust.  But  the  air  was  fresh  and 
cool,  and  a  great  silence  had  fallen  over  the 
plains. 

Pete  Rooney's  house,  a  three-roomed  cot- 
tage painted  lead-color  and  garnished  with 
a  front  piazza  and  a  brick  chimney,  was 
73 


Windy  Creek 

more  pretentious  than  any  other  of  the  set- 
tler's homes  on  Windy  Creek.  But  it  lacked 
the  home-like  air  possessed  by  some  of  its 
humblest  neighbors.  Two  or  three  broken 
window-panes  were  stuffed  out  with  pil- 
lows, the  yard  was  rooted  up  into  unsightly 
rifts  and  hollows  by  the  busy  snouts  of 
half  a  dozen  Httle  pigs;  cows  and  calves 
and  colts  stood  about  in  the  shade  close  un- 
der the  house;  and,  worse  than  all,  there 
was  no  front  gate. 

There  w^as  nothing  for  it  but  to  crawl 
under  the  barbed-wire  fence,  and  while  so 
doing  tear  several  three-cornered  rents  in 
their  clothing.  Taddy,  playing  on  the 
piazza,  espied  them  in  the  act.  He  fled  into 
the  house,  and  a  moment  later  the  doorway 
framed  Rose  Rooney's  spirited  face  with 
Taddy  peeping  around  her  skirts. 

"  Hello,  girls !  How's  you  ?  Come  right 
in.  I  declare,  I'm  powerful  glad  to  see 
some  comp'ny  agin !  It's  dreadful  lonesome 
stayin'  here  with  jist  the  kids!  Ain't  the 
wind  blowed  awful?  Set  down,  Hermia! 
Take  your  things  off,  girls,  an'  don't  mind 
me  fur  keepin'  on  with  my  work.  Jimmy ! 
74 


Spending  the  Day 

You  take  that  truck  out  o'  here !  Ain't  you 
'shamed,  cuttin'  up  *taters  all  over  my  clean 
floor?" 

The  floors,  still  damp  from  scrubbing, 
were  littered  with  the  children's  clothing 
and  bits  of  raw  potato.  The  week's  wash- 
ing was  heaped  on  one  bed,  and  on  the 
other  the  visitors  laid  their  wraps. 

Jimmy  threw  a  scrap  or  two  out  of  the 
door  and  looked  at  his  mother  with  an  elfish 
grin  to  see  if  her  command  were  to  be  taken 
literally.  But  she  rattled  on  in  loud,  ani- 
mated tones : 

"  I  ain't  red  up  my  house,  girls,  but  you'll 
have  to  take  me  as  you  find  me !  You  know 
how  'tis  with  housework — things  won't 
stay  put!  'F  I  don't  let  the  work  slide 
sometimes  an'  git  something  slapped  to- 
gether, them  young-uns  of  mine  'ud  go 
naked.  There  ain't  nobody  but  me  to  'tend 
to  'em.  I  says  to  Pete  at  breakfast,  '  This  's 
the  day  fur  them  Woodses  to  come  over, 
an'  I'm  up  to  my  eyes  in  work.  I  sha'n't 
straighten  up  too  slick  fur  'em!  They'll 
have  to  take  me  as  they  find  me ! '  Them's 
the  very  words  I  says.  An'  Pete,  he  says, 
IS 


Windy  Creek 

*  That's  gener'ly  the  way  you  do  let  folks 
do,  ain't  it?'    Ha,  ha,  ha!'' 

She  laughed  merrily. 

His  first  shyness  abated,  Taddy  began  to 
fret  and  whine.  His  curly  hair  was  rubbed 
into  a  mop  and  he  had  pursed  his  red  lips 
into  an  ugly  pout. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Taddy  this 
morning  ?  "  asked  Ruth. 

"  Oh,  he  had  the  colic  last  night,  awful, 
an'  he's  been  a-fussin'  all  the  mornin'.  I 
never  see  sich  a  young-un'.  I  give  that 
child  sixteen  nutmegs  mashed  an'  boiled  in 
milk  sence  day  before  yisterday  mornin'. 
But  it  didn't  seem  to  do  him  no  good.  I 
got  out  o'  nutmegs  an'  sent  over  to  your 
ma's  an'  to  Bunt's  fur  some  more,  but  they 
didn't  neither  one  of  'em  have  none,  so  I 
begun  on  the  paregoric.  Paregoric's  the 
only  stuff  that  does  that  young-un  any  good. 
I've  used  twic't  the  bottles  on  him  that  I 
used  on  my  other  young-uns !  " 

"  Come  over  and  see  me,  Taddy,"  coaxed 
Ruth,  holding  out  her  hands.  But  he  clung 
the  more  closely  to  his  mother. 

"  Go  to  Ruth,  Taddy,  you  little  bother! " 
76 


Spending  the  Day- 
cried  Rose,  pushing  him  aside  and  snatch- 
ing up  a  child's  half-finished  gingham  waist. 
"  Ma's  busy.  You  go  to  Ruth.  She  ain't 
got  nothin'  to  do.  She's  got  time  an'  to 
spare  fur  kids  like  you !  " 

Hermia  asked,  mildly,  "  I  suppose  you 
have  a  great  deal  to  do,  Mrs.  Rooney  ?  " 
and  was  answered  with  asperity: 

"  Oh,  land,  yes !  Why,  I  don't  never  git 
time  to  turn  around — what  with  cookin'  fur 
the  men,  an'  'tendin'  to  the  kids,  an'  reddin' 
up  the  house,  an'  sloppin'  the  pigs,  an' 
milkin' — Pete  never  milks;  he  ain't  got  no 
time — Lord  knows  I  ain't,  neither;  but  I 
have  to  do  it,  all  the  same.  Them  young- 
uns  is  most  naked  fur  clothes,  an'  when  I 
do  git  anything  made,  they  bust  it  out  in  a 
week's  time.  My  young-uns  is  most  av^ful 
hard  on  their  clothes.  Jimmy's  the  worst, 
the  little  rascal !  You  girls  " — drawing  her 
eyes  together — "  had  ought  to  git  married 
an'  have  your  men  take  up  claims  out  here ! 
You'd  have  to  git  a  hustle  on  you  then! 
You'd  find  they  was  something  else  to  do 
on  a  claim  'sides  fixin'  yourselves  up  an' 
lookin'  at  other  people  work!  I  c'n  brush 
77 


Windy  Creek 

up  a  feller  apiece  fur  you  if  you  want  one," 
she  added. 

A  crowing  sound  called  Rose  Rooney  in- 
to the  bedroom,  whence  she  was  heard  pour- 
ing forth  a  stream  of  baby-talk.  She  proud- 
ly exhibited  her  youngest,  trundling  him 
out  in  a  rickety  carriage;  she  cuddled  him 
in  her  arms;  then,  without  ceremony,  de- 
posited the  infant  in  Hermia's  lap  and 
stepped  back  to  watch  the  effect. 

"  Like  children,  do  you?  " 

"  Pretty  well." 

She  burst  into  a  scream  of  delighted 
laughter. 

'■  Hermia  don't  handle  that  young-un  like 
she  was  used  to  baby-tendin'.  She  acts  like 
she  was  afraid  of  him — an'  she's  got  him 
wrong  end  foremost!  I  bet  you  ain't 
got  no  little  brothers  or  sisters  to  your 
house." 

"No.  My  youngest  brother" — Ruth 
nudged  her  cousin,  but  too  late — "  is  over 
sixteen." 

"You're  older'n  your  brother,  ain't 
you?" 

"  Oh,  certainly." 

78 


Spending  the  Day 

"  Is  Mr.  Crimp  going  to  preach  next 
Sunday  ?  "  Ruth  asked,  hurriedly. 

*'  Guess  so ;  ain't  heard  nothin'  to  the 
contrary.  How  old  are  you,  anyway, 
Hermia?" 

Hermia  laughed.  "  I  believe  Ruth  and 
I  are  twins,  aren't  we,  Ruth  ? '' 

"  Ruth  won't  never  tell  me  her  age. 
Guess  she's  gittin'  too  old  to  tell  her  age." 

Rose  bit  off  her  thread,  glancing  inquisi- 
tively first  at  Ruth,  then  at  Hermia ;  seeing 
that  the  desired  information  was  not  forth- 
coming, she  tossed  her  head. 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  cur'ous !  It  don't  make  no 
difference  to  me  how  old  you  girls  is,  nor 
how  young,  neither!  I  ain't  ashamed  to 
tell  my  age!  I  was  nineteen  the  fourth  of 
last  March. 

"  Ruth's  so  much  prouder'n  her  ma,"  she 
went  on,  in  an  injured  tone.  ''  Her  ma'll 
tell  me  anything  I  ast  her.  Her  ma  ain't  a 
bit  proud ! " 

Mrs.  Rooney's  gaze  became  riveted  on 
Hermia's  hair. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  as  much  hair 
on  your  head  as  you  did  the  last  time  I  seen 
79 


Windy  Creek 

you.  Do  you  wear  a  switch  when  you're 
dressed  up  ?  "  She  left  her  seat  and  walked 
around  her  guest  to  get  a  view  from  all 
sides.  Hermia  endeavored  to  preserve  a 
placid  exterior.  "  YouVe  got  hair  like  my 
sister  Lympy's.  Hern  is  awful  thin  an' 
scraggly;  it  ain't  got  no  life  to  it.  An' 
yourn  is  the  same  brown  color  as  hern.  Jist 
see  how  much  I've  got!  Queer  how  some 
folks  has  it  all  an'  others  ain't  got  anything, 
hardly!  I've  got  enough  an'  to  spare  fur 
two.  When  I  go  to  comb  my  head,  I  can't 
hardly  run  the  teeth  through  it,  it's  so  thick, 
an'  I  c'n  set  on  it,  too !  " 

Mrs.  Rooney  paused,  waiting  for  remark, 
but  as  none  came,  she  returned  to  the  attack. 

"  Like  livin'  on  your  claim  ?  Why  don't 
you  take  up  land  out  here  too,  Hermia  ?  " 

Hermia  replied  that  she  had  no  fondness 
for  roughing  it. 

"  But  you  could  take  up  land  if  you 
wanted  to,  couldn't  you  ?  " 

Hermia  perceived  the  drift  of  Mrs. 
Rooney's  remarks  in  time  to  reply,  "  I  am 
afraid  I  might  be  considered  too  youthful." 

Rose  Rooney  dropped  her  sewing  and  ran 
So 


Spending  the  Day 

out  on  the  piazza,  where  she  stood  gazing 
up  the  road,  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hand. 

"  Something  has  happened  to  ruffle  her," 
whispered  Ruth,  and  Hermia  whispered 
back,  "  Let's  go  home  as  soon  as  we  can  get 
away,  after  dinner." 

Their  hostess  rushed  into  the  kitchen. 
She  assailed  stove-Hds,  kettle,  and  frying- 
pan,  shouting  out  of  the  din: 

"  Blest  if  it  ain't  time  to  be  gittin'  din- 
ner !  We  ain't  got  no  w^ay  to  tell  time — the 
children  was  playin'  with  the  clock  yister- 
day  an'  broke  it,  I  guess.  I  only  knowed 
it  was  drawin'  toward  dinner  time  when  I 
see  the  smoke  from  your  ma's  stove-pipe! 
You  c'n  see  the  smoke  jist  as  plain  from  our 
porch !  An'  I  c'n  see  your  ma's  washin'  on 
the  line,  when  I  stand  on  tip-toe.  That 
porch  's  awful  handy.  Had  an  awful  big 
wash  this  week,  didn't  you?  I  never  see 
sich  folks  fur  wearin'  light  dresses!  I 
won't  never  wear  'em — they  git  dirty  too 
quick!  Didn't  you  never  see  the  smoke 
from  our  chimney  when  you're  over  to  your 
ma's?" 

8i 


Windy  Creek 

"  I've  never  noticed  it." 

"  Where's  your  eyes  ?  "  said  Jimmy,  pert- 
ly. "  When  Fm  over  to  your  ma's  I  c'n  see 
the  smoke  comin'  out  of  our  chimbley. 
Ourn's  a  brick  chimbley;  yourn  ain't." 

Mrs.  Rooney  winked. 

"  Jist  listen  to  the  young-un !  He's  grow- 
in'  smarter  'n  sassier  every  day  of  his  life! 
He's  most  caught  up  to  his  ma !  " 

Jimmy,  flattered  by  her  allusion  to  his 
wit,  lolled  out  his  tongue  and  kicked  up  his 
heels  on  the  floor. 

"  You  git  up  off  that  floor  an'  quit  tryin' 
to  act  smart,  you  little  skeesics,  you !  "  cried 
the  mother.  "  You  clear  out  an'  rustle  me 
in  some  wood  fur  dinner !  Go  'long,  now ! 
Quick!" 

Jimmy's  countenance  fell.  *'  Don't  want 
to,"  he  grumbled. 

"Jimmy  Rooney!  I'll  whip  you  if  you 
don't  git  me  that  wood !  " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  want  no  wood !  That 
box's  half  full,  now." 

"  There  ain't  enough  there  to  burn  two 
minutes!  You  go  chop  up  that  dry-goods 
box  out  there." 

82 


Spending  the  Day 

''Daddy  wants  that  box.  I  see  myself 
choppin'  up  that  box/' 

"  What  do  I  care  fur  daddy.  That  box's 
none  of  hisn !  " 

During  this  angry  controversy  Rose 
Rooney  strode  to  the  door  as  Jimmy  edged 
out  of  it. 

"Well,  I  won't  touch  that  box!"  was 
Jimmy's  parting  shot  from  the  vicinity  of 
the  wood-pile. 

Rose  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  Sich  young-uns  as  I've  got !  I  have  to 
draw  a  tight  line  over  him,  now,  I  tell  you 
— he's  a  case !  Don't  you  wish  you  was  me, 
girls?" 

She  bustled  about  in  the  kitchen,  clatter- 
ing pans  and  kettles.  She  wore  no  apron; 
the  front  of  her  blue  cotton  gown  was  dark 
with  grease-spots  and  soot  from  the  charred 
pitch-pine.  But  in  her  seeming  disorder 
there  was  system;  in  a  short  time  the  din- 
ner was  on,  and  the  appetizing  odors  from 
the  kitchen  excited  the  children,  who  hung 
clamoring  about  the  table.  She  pared  a  raw 
potato  for  each  and  at  these  they  content- 
edly   munched.      She    threw    down    flour- 

83 


4 


Windy  Creek 

board  and  rolling-pin  and  bared  her  pugi- 
listic arms  to  the  shoulder;  her  wrists  were 
firmly  rounded,  her  hands  large  and  well 
shaped.  She  looked  like  a  Hebe  making 
the  pies.  With  the  rolling-pin  she  whacked 
and  pounded  the  paste  into  shape,  from  time 
to  time  throwing  her  voice,  raised  to  a  cheer- 
ful shout,  into  the  next  room  or  roughening 
it  to  scold  the  children.  She  pinched  off 
bits  of  the  raw  pie-crust  and  swallowed 
them  as  so  many  sugar-plums ;  for  "  Good 
cooks  alius  taste,''  said  Mrs.  Rooney. 

The  children  buzzed  around  the  board 
like  flies  about  a  honey-pot. 

"What  you  eatin',  mudder?"  from 
Taddy. 

"  Never  you  mind,  sonny."  She  made  a 
dive  at  him.  "  Taddy !  Git  out  of  the  sugar 
bowl!" 

At  sight  of  the  slices  of  green  apple  she 
was  ladling  into  the  pans,  he  threw  his  po- 
tato on  the  floor. 

"  Me  want  apple !  " 

His  mother  pushed  the  dish  out  of  reacH 
of  the  chubby  hands.  "  Ma  wants  them 
apples  fur  pies,  honey.  The  big  old  men  is 
84 


Spending  the  Day 

goin'  to  eat  all  the  apples  up  an'  all  the 
'taters  up — they  ain't  none  fur  ma's  pet." 

The  boy  set  up  a  loud  yell,  but  she  went 
on  talking  still  more  loudly  until  he  pulled 
a  basin  of  water  over  his  head.  Then  she 
jerked  him  by  one  arm  into  the  living-room. 
"  I  never  see  sich  a  young-un  in  all  my  born 
days !  "  she  said,  irritably.  "  Ruth,  you 
take  him  an'  put  him  into  something 
dry." 

The  men  came  straggling  home  to  din- 
ner, brown  and  dusty  after  a  morning's 
forking  potatoes  in  the  field.  They  drank 
at  the  well  and  washed  their  hands,  waiting 
shyly  outside  until  the  meal  was  announced, 
when  they  trooped  into  the  kitchen  and 
smoothed  their  hair  before  a  small,  distort- 
ing glass  that  hung  in  a  corner. 

"  Come  on,  girls ! "  cried  Mrs.  Rooney. 
"  Don't  you  be  bashful ;  there's  only  one 
stranger  here !  This  is  Mr.  Joe  Puttincamp, 
from  Cripple  Crick.  He's  awful  jolly — ^but 
he's  married,  though,"  she  added  in  an  au- 
dible tone,  winking  at  her  guests. 

Mr.  Joe  Puttincamp,  of  Cripple  Creek, 
bowed  low.  He  was  a  stout  young  man, 
35 


Windy  Creek 

with  a  forward  manner  and  bulging  green- 
ish eyes  like  a  bull-frog's ;  he  wore  his  hair 
banged,  with  a  plastered  curl  in  the  middle 
of  a  receding  forehead. 

"  Here's  my  Pete ;  you  know  him,  Ruth. 
This  is  Miss  Wood,  Pete,  Ruth's  cousin 
come  to  visit  her ;  them  two  girls  is  bachin' 
it  over  to  Ruth's  claim.  An'  this  is  Grand- 
pa Wilkins.  An'  this  is  Bob  Jenkins;  he's 
diggin'  potatoes  fur  Pete.  Now  you  know 
each  other.  Set  up  an'  help  yourselves, 
girls.    Don't  be  backward !  " 

It  was  a  table  spread  helter-skelter;  hot 
soda-biscuits  and  mealy  potatoes  boiled  in 
their  jackets  were  jumbled  together;  the 
fried  pork  w^as  browned  to  a  turn ;  the  cof- 
fee was  yellowed  with  cream;  country 
fashion,  cake,  pie,  and  pudding  bombarded 
each  plate. 

The  children  drummed  on  the  table, 
clamoring  for  the  first  helping.  Their 
father  placed  one  on  each  side  of  him,  filled 
their  plates  and  kept  a  kindly  eye  upon 
them ;  and  with  fingers  and  spoons  they  fell 
to.  He  was  a  silent  man,  Pete  Rooney ;  he 
;vvas  a  good  ten  years  older  than  his  wife, 
S6 


Spending  the  Day 

and  he  had  a  rough,  red  head  and  tousled 
beard. 

The  hired  man  ate  and  drank  speechless- 
ly, appropriating  to  himself  a  large  amount 
of  elbow-space. 

But  old  man  Wilkins  was  more  socially 
inclined.  He  was  the  great-grandfather  of 
Jimmy  and  Taddy,  a  toothless  old  man  hav- 
ing a  yellow  leathern  face,  fringed  with 
stubby  white  hair  and  beard. 

"  And  how's  the  sickly  one  ?  ''  suavely  in- 
quired old  man  Wilkins,  his  underlip  shak- 
ing with  age ;  he  spoke  in  a  leisurely  drawl. 

Ruth  flushed.    "  Pretty  well,  thank  you." 

"  Air  ye  campin'  out,  like,  on  the  per-air- 
ah  fur  yer  health  ?  '* 

"  Partly  for  that." 

"  These  per-air-ahs  air  considered  toler- 
able healthy  fur  invalid  folks  of  yer  build, 
that  air  weak  and  sickly-like,  so  IVe  heered. 
Yer  cousin  thur  looks  ruggeder,  like  as  if 
she  had  been  raised  on  the  per-air-ah." 

A  pause,  during  which  old  man  Wilkins 
stirred  mashed  potato  into  his  tin  of  butter- 
milk,   and   poured   in   molasses    until   the 
contents  were  a  rich  straw-color. 
87 


Windy  Creek 

"  Better  settle  down  on  these  hyur  per- 
air-ahs  an'  git  married.  Now  my  advice  to 
you  ladies  is  to  rustle  around  an'  git  ye  a 
feller  apiece  agin'  the  other  gals  has  hed 
thur  pick.  Ye'll  never  hev  a  better  chance 
— thur's  several  likely  young  men  out  in 
these  parts  that  air  jest  lookin'  around  fur 
to  git  them  a  woman  agin'  they  take  up 
land  an'  settle  down  on  these  hyur  per-air- 
ahs." 

Mrs.  Rooney  waited  on  the  table  in  her 
hospitable  fashion. 

"  Have  some  more  of  the  pork,  Hermia. 
You  ain't  half  eatin'!  We  butchered  one 
of  our  hogs  last  Tuesday  week ;  the  littlest 
one  of  the  lot.  It's  some  early  to  kill  hogs 
afore  cold  weather  sets  in,  but  Pete,  he  says 
we'd  ought  to  kill  oif  one  or  two  an'  stop 
the  feed  bill,  an'  we  knowed  we  could  use 
it  up  afore  it  spoiled,  an'  it  potato  diggin' 
too  an'  ail  them  men  to  eat.  Ain't  the  flies 
jist  awful?  We  ain't  got  no  screens  to  our 
house,  an'  I  can't  get  shed  of  the  flies,  no- 
how! It  jist  plagued  me,  awful,  to  have 
you  girls  to  my  house  to  a  meal  in  fly-time, 
honest." 

88 


Spending  the  Day 

"  Heard  what  price  spuds  bring  over  to 
Cripple  Crick,  Joe  ?  "  inquired  Pete  Rooney 
of  Mr.  Puttincamp. 

"  Sixty  a  hundred  or  thereabouts." 

"  Beats  me  how  these  hard  times  keeps 
up,"  said  Pete.  "  Prices  dropping,  banks 
failing — the  country  is  going  to  bust  up  one 
of  these  days." 

"  If  them  fool  easterners,"  said  Mr.  Put- 
tincamp, "  would  put  the  right  man  in, 
now.  Put  the  man  in  fur  president,  says 
I,  that  understands  the  West ;  what's  good 
for  the  West  is  good  for  the  East.  Fve  got 
my  eye  on  one  man,"  raising  his  voice, 
"  that's  fit  to  sit  in  the  president's  chair,  and 
no  mistake.  A  man  that  understands  the 
principle  of  sixteen  to  one  from  bottom  to 
top.  A  man  that  would  open  up  the  West 
in  good  shape,  give  him  half  a  chance.  A 
man  that's  got  the  grit  to  fight  it  out — first 
with  argyments  and  last  with  blood,  and 
come  out  ahead  every  time!  And  that 
man's  Waite!  Waite  would  make  the 
world  hum!  I  had  the  luck  to  hear  him 
speechify  down  there  in  Denver.  If  he 
didn't  raise  Cain  with  his  blood  to  the 
89 


Windy  Creek 

bridle-bits!  That's  the  kind  of  talk  we 
want,  says  I !  It  made  my  American  heart 
boil,  by  jolly !  Waiters  the  man  to  fill  the 
bill,  and  don't  you  forget  it ! " 

"  Say,  Waite  made  things  pretty  lively  up 
there  to  Cripple  Crick  time  of  the  Bull  Hill 
strike,  didn't  he  ?  "  remarked  Pete. 

"  You  bet  your  life.  Took  old  Waite  to 
set  the  camp  humming.  There  was  one 
night  there  when  the  old  man  was  settlin' 
up  things  that  us  boys  got  pretty  high.  We 
was  all  full,  not  to  hurt,  you  know,  but  just 
enough  to  feel  good — and  we  kep'  a-scrap- 
pin'  with  the  cops  all  night.  My  brother, 
he  got  into  a  scrap,  and  I  takes  his  part.  I 
grabs  the  cop  and  ketches  hold  of  his  legs 
till  he  was  throwed.  Then  up  steps  another 
feller  with  a  billy  and  I  settles  him.  I  gets 
into  a  scrap  all  around.  Then  I  steps  up 
and  agrees  to  pay  the  fine.  One  of  these 
here  Salvation  Army  fellers  stops  at  the  cor- 
ner saloon  and  sings, 

'//  you  get  there  before  I  do. 
Just  tell  the  rest  Fm  coming  too  * 

and  we  joshed  him  till  he  lit  out.    We  set 

on  the  curb-stone  and  joshed  and  hollered 

90 


Spending  the  Day 

all  night.  My  throat  got  so  sore  with  josh- 
in'  that  I  couldn't  hardly  speak  above  a 
whisper  by  mornin'.  Yes,  mom,  I  ain't  had 
such  a  bully  time  since  us  boys  egged  the 
cowboy  preacher  out  of  camp.  I  got  hit  on 
the  head  by  an  egg  myself  that  night,  but 
it  was  a  fresh  eggy  all  right." 

"  Waite's  pretty  smart  of  a  gov'nor ; 
there  won't  be  no  hard  times,  long,  with 
him  to  even  up  things.  He  ain't  no  dough- 
head,  Waite  ain't,"  observed  old  man  Wil- 
kins. 

"  What  in  thunder  started  all  these  hard 
times,  anyway?  If  it's  going  to  get  so 
thundering  hard  to  live  out  here,  it's  time 
to  quit  this  doggoned  country,"  growled  the 
hired  man,  in  a  grumbling  bass. 

"  These  hard  times,"  old  man  Wllkins 
explained,  "  hed  oughter  be  blamed  on  thet 
thur  gorl-darned  Harrison.  He  air  the 
prime  cause  fur  the  scarcity  of  money  at  the 
present  day;  and  we  air  in  the  pinch  now 
on  account  of  him,  and  no  other." 

"  Oh,"  said  Hermia,  "  Harrison  made  a 
pretty  good  sort  of  a  president." 

Rose  RoQuey  upset  a  coffee-cup. 
91 


Windy  Creek 

"  Oh,  but  jist  think  what  Harrison  done. 
When  Harrison  was  president,  he  stole  the 
treasury! " 

Her  husband  gave  a  contemptuous  laugh. 
"  Oh,  come  off !  you  don't  know  anything 
about  it.  My  woman,"  turning  apologet- 
ically to  the  visitor  from  Cripple  Creek, 
"  she  thinks  she  knows  it  all,  and  she  don't 
know  the  first  thing  about  politics,  and 
never  will." 

"I  do,  too!  You  needn't  think  Fm  so 
awful  dumb!  I  guess  I've  heard  about 
Harrison's  stealin'  the  treasury !  " 

Mr.  Puttincamp's  oily  tones  smoothed 
the  troubled  waters. 

"  I  guess  your  wife's  about  right,  Pete. 
There  ain't  much  difference  between  '  stole  ' 
and  '  robbed  ' — leastways  you  wouldn't  be 
apt  to  think  so  if  a  coon  meddled  with  your 
hen-roost,  ha,  ha,  ha ! "  And  Mr.  Puttin- 
camp  laughed  heartily,  and  winked  in  a 
familiar  way  at  the  two  guests. 

Mrs.  Rooney  fixed  her  eyes  on  Hermia's 
face  and  asked,  suddenly: 

*'  What  ticket  'r'  you  goin'  to  vote  this 
election  ?  " 

92 


Spending  the  Day 

"  Oh,  the  RepubHcan,  I  suppose." 

"  Then  you're  twenty-one.  You're  old 
enough  to  vote !  " 

The  men  laughed.  Hermia  exchanged  a 
humorous  glance  with  her  cousin,  which 
said,  "  Caught,  that  time !  " 

The  baby  woke  out  of  a  nap.  His  mother 
brought  him  to  the  table  just  as  he  was,  all 
warm  and  pink,  and  fed  him  greasy  gravy 
on  potato,  bits  of  soda  biscuit,  pie  and  cake, 
and  strong  coffee. 

"  Jist  see  my  baby  eat,"  she  said,  with 
pride.  ''  He  c'n  eat  everything  that  I  do, 
an'  he  only  four  months  old  next  Sunday. 
He's  got  an  awful  strong  stummick.  Tad- 
dy,  he  never  use'  to  could  eat  things  like 
Marky  can.  He  can't  eat  like  Marky  can, 
now,  can  he,  tumpty-wumpty  ?  Markv's 
strong,  but  he's  homely.  He's  the  home- 
liest young-un  I've  got.  He's  an  awful 
homely  kid,  ain't  he,  sweet,  silly  sing?" — 
punctuating  her  words  with  kisses. 

The  men  pushed  back  their  chairs  and 
went  off  to  their  work.     Old  man  Wilkins 
ambled   after  them,   first   replacing  in  his 
toothless  mouth  his  quid  of  tobacco. 
93 


Windy  Creek 

Dinner  over,  the  guests  wiped  the  dishes 
while  Rose  washed  and  "  swilled  "  them. 

Then  Rose  Rooney  must  needs  take  them 
out  to  see  the  live-stock. 

She  tucked  the  baby  into  his  buggy  and 
flung  a  quilt  over  him,  saying,  "  Marky'll 
be  good  till  we  git  back — he's  the  best  baby 
to  stay  alone  by  hisself ,  Marky  is !  " 

She  led  the  way,  first  to  the  pig-pen  to 
exhibit  the  fattening  porkers.  She  took  her 
guests  down  into  the  potato  cellar  to  show 
them  the  ton  or  so  of  potatoes  already  gath- 
ered in,  and  she  stopped  at  the  well  and 
drew  a  bucket  of  clear,  soft  water  with  the 
windlass. 

"  This  water  ain't  got  a  bit  of  alkali  in 
it.  None  of  the  water  out  here  hasn't. 
Down  around  Denver  they  say  the  alkali 
is  so  bad  that  when  the  men  sweats,  the  al- 
kali comes  out  on  their  shirts,  from  drinkin' 
the  stuff.'' 

"There's  the  old  locoed  horse,"  said 
Jimmy. 

"  Old  locoed  horse,"  echoed  Taddy. 

They  pointed  to  a  weazened,  hide-bound 
bronco  with  drooping  head  and  sunken 
94 


Spending  the  Day- 
eye    and   legs    that    bent    under    its   light 
weight;  it  was  standing  motionless  in  the 
shade  of  the  house. 

''  Didn't  you  never  see  a  locoed  horse 
afore  ? ''  asked  Rose  Rooney,  in  a  pitying 
tone.  *'  Well,  you  see  one  now.  That's  the 
way  they  git  when  they  eat  the  loco — you 
know  that  purple  flower  that  grows  out 
here ;  there's  a  bunch  now,  a-growin'  by  the 
corner  of  the  stable.  Jimmy,  you  run  an'  git 
her  a  sprig  of  it.  It  makes  the  cattle  crazy 
to  eat  it,  an'  then  they  pine  away  an'  die; 
they  don't  never  git  over  it.  That  old  horse 
must  have  eat  a  lot  of  it.  He  was  plumb 
crazy,  like  he'd  been  bit  by  a  mad  dog. 
They  tied  him  in  the  stable  an'  he  broke 
loose  an'  kicked  an'  rolled  an'  bit.  He 
smashed  every  stall  in  the  stable — they 
wasn't  a  whole  two-by-four  left  inside.  Jist 
come  here  an'  I'll  show  you  the  marks  where 
he  bit  chunks  out  of  the  logs.  He  was  that 
way  till  he  wore  hisself  all  out.  That  was 
more'n  two  months  back.  Then  he  got  kind 
o'  quiet  an'  stupid,  an'  he  wouldn't  eat  none. 
He  gits  poorer  an'  poorer  every  day  of  his 
life.  He  won't  last  long,  now.*' 
95 


Windy  Creek 

Her  guests  had  already  looked  too  long 
at  the  poor  little  brute.  They  went  into  the 
house,  wondering  why  Pete  did  not  put  an 
end  to  his  misery.  Their  hostess  soon  put 
them  to  work. 

"  Ruth,  you  take  that  waist  of  Jimmy's 
an'  sew  up  them  seams  on  the  machine. 
Fve  got  to  patch  this  shirt  of  Pete's,  plague 
take  it.  Hermia,  you  mind  the  baby;  you 
don't  seem  to  have  nothin'  else  to  do." 

The  little  ones  romped  and  frisked  like 
young  calves  after  a  full  meal.  Jimmy 
jumped  into  the  bed  and  Taddy  after  him. 
They  hammered  the  pillows  with  their  dusty 
little  shoes,  they  turned  somersaults,  they 
whooped  and  roared.  A  feverish  flush 
leaped  to  Ruth's  pale  cheeks.  But  the  baby 
slumbered  peacefully  on;  and  their  mother 
rocked  and  talked  and  sewed.  When  Her- 
mia sprang  to  the  rescue  of  the  wraps  on 
the  bed,  she  only  said,  composedly:  *' Oh, 
never  mind  the  bed — the  children  wallers 
in  it  all  day." 

Rose  Rooney  was  not  so  deeply  absorbed 
in  her  work  as  to  neglect  the  world  outside. 
She  rushed  to  the  open  door. 

96 


Spending  the  Day 

"  Believe  my  soul,  that's  Claude  Fairley ! 
Wonder  what  he's  took  that  road  fur  ?  Him 
an'  his  brother's  ranch  is  five  miles  to  the 
north  of  here." 

Ruth  left  the  machine.  '*  Oh,  is  that 
Claude  Fairley?  You  must  have  a  look  at 
him,  Hermia — he's  a  college  graduate,  and 
he's  roughing  it  out  here  on  a  cattle  ranch." 
She  looked  up  and  down  the  road.  "  Why, 
where  is  he  ?  " 

Rose  Rooney  pointed.  After  looking  up 
and  down  and  all  around,  their  eyes  trav- 
elled out  to  the  prairie,  and  they  noticed 
afar  off,  perhaps  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
or  more,  a  small  object  moving  slowly 
southward. 

"  How  do  you  know  that's  Claude  Fair- 
ley?" 

"Can't  you  see  his  cart?"  contemptu- 
ously. 

"  But  how  can  you  tell  a  cart  at  such  a 
distance?  " 

"  Where  was  you  raised  ?    Can't  you  see 

them  two  wheels?     That's  his  roan  mare, 

too.     I  could  tell  that  mare  anywheres — 

she  goes  sideways.    You  Wood  girls  is  so 

97 


Windy  Creek 

odd,  you  ain't  never  learnt  to  use  your  eyes, 
none." 

"  Perhaps  you  can  tell  us  what  he  has 
on,"  said  Ruth. 

*'  Or  the  expression  on  his  face,"  added 
Hermia. 

Rose  missed  the  sarcasm.  She  again 
strained  her  gaze.  "  He's  got  on  that  red 
shirt  of  hisn,"  she  announced.  "  An' 
there's  something  tied  to  the  springs  of  the 
cart — 't  looks  like  a  jug.  I  bet  I  know 
where  he's  bound !  "  with  animation.  "  He's 
goin'  up  by  Post's,  an'  then  he's  goin'  'round 
by  Arrowhead  to  git  his  jug  filled! " 

She  went  back  to  her  work.  Her  eyes 
narrowed.  "  You  girls  better  set  your  caps 
fur  him.  He  won't  be  hard  to  ketch.  They 
say  he's  awful  anxious  to  git  him  a  wife." 

"  H'm,"  said  Ruth,  hastily  turning  her 
back  on  the  distant  cart,  "  I  wouldn't  be 
seen  speaking  to  that  Claude  Fairley ! " 

Rose  Rooney  veered  about  like  a  weather- 
cock at  the  first  breath  of  wind. 

"  I  never  did  like  that  Claude  Fairley, 
nohow,"  said  she,  "  nor  his  brother  Dave, 
neither.  I  tell  you  what's  the  matter  of 
98 


Spending  the  Day 

them:  they're  bigoty!  So's  the  old  lady. 
The  bigotiest  lot  I  ever  see,  the  whole  out- 
fit of  'em." 

Her  face  reddened  and  she  sewed  with 
a  furious  needle. 

"  Girls,"  said  she,  "  I  was  that  riled  last 
Saturday  week  when  I  went  to  the  Springs 
to  do  my  tradin'  that  I  could  a'  said  bad 
words !  Honest,  I  could !  Fve  been  takin' 
my  eggs  to  the  woman  that  lives  in  the  big 
shingled  house  on  Cascade  Avenue,  the 
green  house  with  the  white  trimmings,  you 
know.  And  I  went  to  the  front  door  like 
I  alius  do — ketch  me  goin'  'round  to  the 
back  door  like  any  rag-picker !  An'  I  rung 
the  door-bell.  An'  the  woman,  she  opened 
the  door  reel  quick  an'  she  says,  '  After  this 
come  to  the  back  door  with  your  eggs ! ' 
Them's  the  very  words  she  said!  'After 
this  come  to  the  back  door  with  your  eggs ! ' 
Well,  I  jist  looked  a  hole  through  her,  an' 
left.  Chaw  my  heel,  if  I  ever  ring  her  door- 
bell agin,  or  go  'round  to  her  back  door, 
neither!  I  jist  won't  be  put  upon,  now 
I  tell  you!  Say,  girls,  I'm  awful  glad 
you  ain't  tony,  like  that  woman;  why,  I 
99 


Windy  Creek 

wouldn't  know  how  to  talk  to  you  if  you 
was !  There's  another  woman  that  Hves  in 
one  of  them  big  houses  that  I  take  my  eggs 
to  that's  jist  as  different !  She  alius  smiles 
as  pleasant  and  as'ts  me  inside,  and  as'ts  me 
if  Vm  tired,  an'  how  Jimmy  is — I  took  him 
with  me,  onc't.  She  ain't  a  bit  stingy  of 
her  pleasant  words.  I  tell  you  what  it  is, 
girls,  she's  common,  like  me  'n'  you.  There 
ain't  nothin'  bigoty  about  that  woman.  I 
like  folks  that's  common  and  treats  every- 
body pleasant  alike.  But  some  of  them  rich 
bugs  is  so  mean. 

"  I  took  Jimmy  to  the  Springs  last  time 
but  one,"  went  on  Mrs.  Rooney,  '*  an'  the 
little  skeesics,  he  thought  the  fruit  stalls  an' 
candy  stands  were  free  to  all  to  help  their- 
selves.  'Twas  the  first  time  he's  went  to  the 
city  since  he  was  a  teenty  kid  like  Marky, 
an'  he  didn't  know  no  better.  He  got 
off  with  consider'ble  truck  without  bein' 
ketched  at  it ;  but  he  was  li'ble  to  git  us 
into  trouble.  It  tickled  me  some  to  see  the 
kid," 

"Do  you  like  Mr.  Crimp  as  much  as 
ever?  "  Hermia  inquired,  wishing  to  beguile 

lOO 


Spending  the  Day- 
Rose  Rooney  into  speaking  of  her  immer- 
sion. 

"  Like  him !  Guess  I  do !  Don't  you  ? 
I  never  see  a  man  that  could  git  up  an' 
preach  along  like  him — he  could  talk  an 
arm  off  you!  Pa  says  he's  the  smartest 
man  of  his  time.  Pa's  all  wrapped  up  in 
Mr.  Crimp.  He  was  converted  in  June,  pa 
was.  An'  did  you  ever  see  anything  sol- 
emner  than  the  way  that  man  conducts  at 
baptizings?  I  declare  to  goodness,  girls, 
when  I  went  into  the  water,  an'  he  said 
them  solemn  words,  I  couldn't  help  it,  hon- 
est, I  jist  had  to  cry !  I  got  to  shakin'  from 
head  to  foot.  I  wasn't  afraid,  but  I  jist  got 
all  stirred  up  like,  inside  of  me.  An'  I  felt 
like  I  was  dyin',  an'  my  children  was  took 
away  from  me,  an'  Pete  was  took  away,  an' 
— oh,  I  don't  know  what  all!  I  felt  like 
I  was  at  my  own  funeral !  I'm  awful  glad 
the  Christians  doesn't  believe  in  baptizin' 
you  more'n  onc't.  I  tell  you  I'd  back  out 
if  they  come  fur  me  agin!  I  jist  would! 
I'd  be  a  backslider!  'Twas  a  awful  hard 
pull  for  me  to  put  my  mind  on  goin'  into 
the  water;  but  I  don't  care,  now  it's  over. 

lOI 


Windy  Creek 

Bein'  dipped  give  me  the  right  to  go  in  at 
the  gate  of  heaven,  an'  nobody  can't  take 
that  away  from  me." 

A  dreamy  look  flitting  into  her  face,  she 
became  again  the  Rose  Rooney  of  the  im- 
mersion. But  the  next  moment  she  roused 
herself  to  give  the  sharp  command : 

"  Jimmy !  Git  Taddy  out  of  the  machine- 
drawer!  I  never  see  that  child's  like  to 
meddle — he's  always  got  them  fingers  of 
hisn  into  something." 

"  What  is  Taddy's  real  name  ?  " 

"  His  real  name  ?  Taddy's  short  for 
Thaddeus." 

"  He  has  a  Bible  name,  then." 

"  I  give  Jimmy  an'  Marky  an'  him  Bible 
names  a-purpose.  Pa  says  there's  some- 
thing in  it :  if  you  give  a  boy  a  Bible  name, 
they'll  gener'ly  turn  up  good.  I'm  goin'  to 
name  every  boy  I  have  after  the  apostles, 
if  there's  seventeen  of  'em !  My  sister  Em, 
she  don't  believe  a  Bible  name  is  goin'  to 
keep  boys  from  bein'  bad — she  believes  if 
they're  goin'  to  be  bad,  they'll  be  bad,  an'  if 
they're  goin'  to  be  good,  they'll  be  good, 
an'  they  ain't  no  help  fur  it !    She  says  she's 

I02 


Spending  the  Day 

goin'  to  call  her  boys  decent  names.  So 
she's  named  her  boy  Roger.  She's  got  her 
a  great  big  rough  boy,  Em  has,  with  years 
as  big  as  mine." 

"  When  is  the  next  immersion  coming 
off?" 

"  This  comin'  Sunday,  it  was  give  out  to 
be.  They's  goin'  to  be  five  or  six  converts, 
if  they  don't  none  of  'em  backslide,  like  Joel 
Milligan  done.  That  Joel  Milligan  ain't  got 
no  sand;  nor  them  Bitterns,  neither.  The 
women  folks  aim  to  try  it  agin:  but  Joel, 
he  says  no  one  ain't  goin'  to  coax  him  into 
the  water  agin  if  he  don't  never  git  to 
heaven.  An'  I  reckon  everybody  knows 
why,  too."  Rose  Rooney  lowered  her 
voice,  "  Folks  say  he  drownded  a  man, 
onc't.  They  say  the  sight  of  water  alius 
makes  him  sick." 

"  Joel  Milligan  a  murderer ! "  cried  the 
listeners. 

"Honest!  That's  jist  what  he  done — 
drownded  a  man  in  cold  blood.  But  that 
was  a  long  while  back,  an'  it's  all  blowed 
over.  Him  an'  his  pardner  fell  out  over  a 
calf  that  hadn't  no  brand  on  it,  a  maverick, 
103 


Windy  Creek 

you  know,  an'  they  both  claimed  it.  They 
chanced  to  meet  down  to  a  pond — folks  say 
it  was  some  like  Bittern's,  an'  I  reckon  it 
was  the  sight  of  Bittern's  sheep-pond  put 
Joel  in  mind  of  what  he'd  done,  when  he 
went  to  git  dipped.  An'  Joel,  he's  powerful 
stout  in  the  arms,  if  he  is  small-built,  an' 
his  pardner  had  lung  disease — he  wound 
them  arms  of  hisn  'round  his  pardner's 
neck,  an'  tripped  him  up,  an'  held  him  un- 
der water  till  he  was  stiff  an'  stark.  An' 
that  pond  it  wasn't  more  than  three  foot 
deep,  they  say.  Joel,  he  kep'  mighty  clos't 
fur  a  few  days,  but  the  boys  give  him  away, 
an'  the  sheriff  run  him  down.  He  had  his 
trial  and  was  give  eighteen  months  in  the 
Pen.  Joel,  he  served  his  time  out,  an'  then 
he  come  back  out  here,  an'  took  up  a  claim, 
an'  kep'  reel  quiet  an'  stiddy,  an'  it  all 
blowed  over.  Malviny  Bittern,  she  come 
out  to  these  parts  with  her  folks  in  a 
schooner  from  Injun  Territory,  an'  Joel,  he 
kep'  comp'ny  with  her.  Folks  said  she  done 
bad  to  yoke  herself  to  a  murderer,  an'  she 
didn't  want  him,  noways;  but  her  pa,  he 
kicked  up  sich  a  rumpus,  an'  Joel,  he  stuck 
104 


Spending  the  Day 

to  her  so,  that  she  took  him  to  git  shed  of 
him.  But  they  ain't  no  git-up  to  neither  one 
of  'em :  they  don't  seem  to  know  how  to  git 
ahead,  someways ;  Malviny  or  the  children's 
alius  sick,  or  something;  they're  awful 
shif'less. 

'*  An'  them  ain't  the  only  shif'less  lot  out 
here,  not  by  a  long  ways,"  said  Rose 
Rooney,  in  energetic  tones.  "  J'ever  see 
the  Bunts?  Well,  them  Bunts  is  the  shif- 
liest  family  that  ever  took  up  a  claim  an' 
couldn't  work  it.  Shif'less?  No  name  fur 
it !  When  we  first  come  here  to  this  house, 
I  neighbored  off  an'  on  with  Mis'  Bunt; 
but  land!  I've  had  to  give  that  up.  I've 
took  a  despise  to  her.  'Tain't  no  use  tryin' 
to  neighbor  with  folks  that  ain't  decent  an' 
won't  even  pretend  to  be!  I  jist  dropped 
the  lot,  honest,  I  did!  Bunt,  he  drinks, 
when  he  c'n  git  it.  Lon's  been  ketched  at 
liftin'  chickens  as  much  as  twic't ;  your  pa'd 
do  well  to  look  after  his  hen-roost.  I'll  bet 
Lon  knowed  what  went  with  that  pullet 
your  pa  missed  last  week.  An'  Ted's  an 
awful  bad  boy — he  chaws  an'  swears !  An' 
the  girls  is  dreadful  slack — the  men  that 
105 


Windy  Creek 

gits  them  girls  fur  wives  has  got  a  elephant 
on  their  hands.  They  don't  know  how  to 
housekeep  nor  nothin'.  An'  Mis'  Bunt, 
she's  the  fussiest  woman  to  live  near  by! 
She  'n  me,  we  had  a  reg'lar  up  an'  down 
scrap  afore  we  quit  neighborin'.  I  didn't 
sass  her  back  nor  nothin' ;  I  jist  kep'  in  an' 
let  her  gas  till  she  about  wore  her  tongue 
out  on  me.  Her  tongue  is  alius  clackin' — 
she's  got  a  awful  sassy  tongue,  that  woman 
has. 

"Jimmy,  you  leave  them  lights  be,  d'ye 
hear  ?  Them  broken  lights  pester  me  dread- 
ful. Yisterday,  when  I  was  stewin'  over  the 
stove  with  my  back  to  the  winder,  a  big 
Irishman  stuck  his  head  in,  an'  he  says, 
'  Air  ye  trew  potatez-diggin'  yit,  mum  ? ' 
Land!  he  like  to  scairt  the  daylights  out 
o'  me,  his  big  voice  hollered  through  that 
broken  light  so  suddent!  Thought  'twas  a 
tramp  at  first,  but  I  might  'a'  knowed  bet- 
ter: we  don't  never  have  no  tramps  out 
here — too  fur  from  the  railroads.  The 
feller  he  wanted  work,  but  he  didn't  git  it, 
all  the  same.  Pete,  he  won't  give  no  work 
to  no  plaguey  Irishman,  if  he  did  hail  from 
io6 


Spending  the  Day 

the  old  country  hisself — he  knows  'em  too 
well !  He  mistrusts  'em  every  time !  Your 
pa,  he  was  here  this  mornin'  lookin'  at  the 
red  heifer.  An'  he  noticed  them  pillers 
that's  stuck  in  them  winder  lights,  an'  he 
says,  '  Put  all  your  beddin'  out  to  air,  eh  ? ' 
I  was  that  plagued,  I  didn't  know  what  to 
say,  honest.  I'll  be  tickled  to  death  when 
I  git  them  broken  lights  fixed!  I  don't 
care!  When  them's  fixed,  me  an'  Pete's 
got  the  comfortablest  home  this  side  of  the 
Divide,  if  I  do  say  it  myself!  There  ain't 
another  house  on  Windy  Creek  has  got 
more  room  than  ourn,  nor  their  walls  plas- 
tered, nor  a  brick  chimney,  neither." 

Rose  Rooney  put  half  a  dozen  swift  fin- 
ishing stitches  into  her  husband's  shirt,  and 
flung  it  across  the  room. 

"  There,"  said  she.  "  That'll  do  fur  tem- 
porary !  " 

The  baby  wakened  and  she  ran  to  take 
it  up.  With  the  child  lying  across  her  knees 
she  sang  a  snatch  of  a  lullaby,  and  in  her 
attitude — the  curve  of  her  graceful  neck, 
her  downward  glance,  the  mother-light  in 
her  eyes,  there  was  a  trace  of  the  pictured 
107 


Windy  Creek 

Madonna.  The  older  children,  attracted  by 
her  song,  drew  to  her  knee,  and  Jimmy  put 
out  his  hand  to  stroke  the  little  one's  head. 
In  a  flash  a  storm  gathered  and  broke; 
Jimmy's  face  was  slapped,  and  his  little 
brother  pushed  rudely  over  on  the  floor. 
Again  Rose  Rooney  made  a  picture;  but 
this  time  it  was  the  mother-cat  cuffing  her 
older  offspring  while  she  fondles  her  nurs- 
ling. 

The  children  cried  themselves  into  a 
quarrelsome  mood;  the  elder  tyrannized 
over  the  younger,  and  the  younger  fretted 
and  teased;  but  the  mother  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  their  small  woes.  She  was  looking 
her  guests  over  with  a  critical  eye. 

"  Folks  that  has  to  wear  glasses  looks  so 
old,  don't  they  ?  "  she  remarked.  "  You 
can't  see  good  without  yourn,  can  you, 
Hermia  ?  To  think  of  your  sight  failin',  an' 
you  so  young!  Land!  'fore  I'd  be  willin' 
to  wear  specs !  S'pose  I'll  have  to  come  to 
it  some  day,  when  I'm  awful  old.  Jist  look 
at  Ruth's  hands,  how  little  they  is,  an'  how 
fast  she  works!  I  don't  see  how  you  can 
sew  none  with  sich  little  paws  as  them, 
io8 


Spending  the  Day- 
Ruth!  You're  that  Httle  all  over  that  you 
can't  amount  to  as  much  as  natural  sized 
folks  like  me  'n  Hermia.  Ruth,  it's  a  good 
thing  you  never  got  married,  it  'd  be  a 
shame  fur  you  to  palm  yourself  off  on  a 
man  that  was  well.  But  your  bein'  under- 
sized don't  matter  much,  seein'  as  you're  an 
invalid.  They's  less  of  you  to  be  sick. 
Now,  I've  alius  been  robust  an'  I've  alius 
had  to  hoe  my  own  row — don't  know  what 
would  a-become  of  me  if  I  hadn't.  In  our 
fam'ly  everybody  had  to  look  out  fur  num- 
ber one.  We  was  put  out  to  work  as  soon 
as  we  was  knee-high  to  a  grasshopper. 
When  I  was  young,  I  worked  out.  You'd 
better  believe  I  worked  hard,  too !  No  soft 
pillers  fur  me!  I  was  young  then,  only 
fourteen,  girls,  an'  I  put  out  big  washin'j, 
an'  scrubbed  floors  till  my  hands  was  sore, 
an'  cooked  meals  fur  whole  families!  I 
never  did  stay  long  to  one  place — ^but  'twas 
'cause  I  jist  wouldn't  be  put  upon!  When 
the  woman  at  one  place  got  too  sassy,  I  jist 
lit  out,  an'  looked  up  another  place.  I  tell 
you,  I  was  pretty  'cute ! " 

She  went  to  the  window  and  looked  rest- 
lessly up  and  down. 

109 


Windy  Creek 

"  Wish't  a  team  or  something  'd  come 
along.  Say,  girls,  know  them  Joneses  that 
live  down  the  hill  there  ?  They're  awful  ig- 
norant people — they're  Welsh.  The  Welsh 
is  so  ignorant.  There's  a  lot  in  that  little 
house — eleven  children,  and  the  father  and 
mother  and  old  man  Jones — ^but  he's  half- 
cracked,  he  ain't  all  there.  I  sent  Jimmy 
over  to  Mis'  Jones's  of  a  errand  yisterday 
— no,  mebby  'twas  day  before;  but  it  don't 
matter.  They's  jist  got  up  from  the  table, 
an'  the  young-uns'  faces  was  all  sticky,  an' 
Mis'  Jones,  she  wet  the  wash-cloth  in  some 
warm  water  an'  went  the  rounds.  Then 
what  do  you  reckon  that  woman  done? 
Slapped  the  wash-cloth  into  the  dish-water 
and  went  to  washin'  the  dishes  with  it! 
Yes,  ma'am !  Jimmy  he  see  her !  He  come 
an'  told  me!  Washed  the  dishes  with  the 
cloth  she's  wiped  the  young-uns'  faces  on! 
Oh,  she's  awful  ignorant. 

"  Ain't  heard  any  news  anywhere,  have 
you,  girls?"  inquired  Rose  Rooney,  yawn- 
ing. "  I  wish't  something  'ud  happen.  I 
almost  wish't  there'd  come  a  blizzard  off 
somewheres,  honest  I  do.  Did  you  hear 
no 


Spending  the  Day 

about  that  blizzard  they  had  out  here  last 
fall?  My  sister  Lympy  was  ketched  out  in 
that  blizzard.  She  was  out  gittin'  up  the 
cows,  three  miles  from  home.  The  storm 
blowed  up  awful  quick  an'  she  couldn't  see 
nothin'.  So  she  ketched  hold  of  a  cow's 
tail  an'  come  home  a-flyin';  the  blizzard,  it 
happened  to  be  blowin'  her  way.  They  was 
two  thousand  sheep  strown  over  the  prairie 
after  the  storm  blowed  over.  And  they  was 
the  body  of  a  woman  found  out  on  the  Di- 
vide. They  examined  her  and  found  she 
was  thirty  years  old  and  well  educated. 
Wish't  something  like  that  would  happen 
out  here.  It's  so  awful  dull  on  Windy  Crick 
this  year,  there  ain't  no  sparkin'  to  speak 
of,  nor  no  pairin's  off,  nor  nothin'.  We 
need  something  to  stir  up  our  blood  onc't 
in  a  while.  There's  Art  Post  soft  as  mush 
on  that  Scotch  girl,  Jean  McLeod,  but  he 
don't  seem  to  gain  on  her  none.  Guess 
she's  got  a  mind  of  her  own.  But  every- 
body says  she'll  end  by  marryin'  him. 
Wish't  she'd  throw  him  over  or  elope  with 
him.  I  can't  bear  to  see  folks  jist  paddle 
along  like  them  two.  Ruth,  why  don't  you 
III 


Windy  Creek 

set  your  cap  fur  Art  an'  take  him  away 
from  her?  That  'd  be  an  excitement  to 
even  up  things.  I  declare  to  goodness  I'd 
do  it  'f  I  was  a  girl.  Then  there's  that  Soph 
Crimp.  Folks  don't  know  whether  he's 
keepin'  comp'ny  with  Dianthy  or  Stelle  or 
both,  or  whether  he  means  business  by 
either  one  of  'em.  But  I  reckon  Dianthy's 
a  little  softer  on  him  than  Stelle  is,  if  you 
turn  it  the  other  way.  Them  are  odd  girls. 
They're  gittin'  a  little  old.  Dianthy '11  be  an 
old  maid  afore  she  settles  down  if  she  don't 
look  out.  I  guess  she's  nineteen.  She  told 
me  her  age  two  years  back,  but  she  won't 
tell  it  now.  Oh,  she's  gittin'  old,  Dianthy 
is ;  she's  had  her  day." 

She  thrust  out  her  feet  in  front  of  her. 

"  Look  at  them  shoes !  Don't  I  need  a 
new  pair  awful  bad?  Them's  fours,  hon- 
est, though  they  don't  look  it;  sides  busted 
out,  soles  flappin',  heels  run  down — what 
size  shoes  do  you  wear,  Hermia?" 

"  Tens,  on  the  H  last,"  replied  Hermia, 
glibly. 

"  Oh,  you're  joshin' !  You  don't  wear 
no  tens.    Ruth  don't  wear  more'n  ones,  I 

112 


Spending  the  Day 

know,  from  the  size  of  her  foot.  But  she's 
so  httle  anyway  you  can't  see  her.  She 
ain't  no  bigger'n  a  bar  of  soap  put  out  to 
dry.    I  wouldn't  have  sich  Httle  feet." 

"  Hermia,  it's  time  we  were  going  home," 
said  Ruth,  decisively;  and  Hermia  sprang 
to  her  feet,  saying,  "  Indeed,  I  think  so, 
too."  .;- 

"  What's  your  hurry  ?  Come  over  reel 
often,  girls.  When  you  don't  know  what 
to  do  with  yourselves,  come  over  an'  mind 
my  kids.    I  c'n  keep  you  in  work !  " 

The  afternoon  sun  shone  strong  on  Her- 
mia standing  in  the  doorway.  "  What  a 
little,  thin  neck  Hermia  has  got ! "  ex- 
claimed Rose  Rooney,  who  seemed  to  be 
in  a  perpetual  state  of  astonishment  over 
some  new  discovery.  Hermia  moved  pre- 
cipitately out  of  the  door.  She  carefully 
held  up  the  wires  to  let  her  cousin  roll  un- 
der the  fence  without  doing  further  damage 
to  her  clothing. 

Rose  Rooney,  watching  from  the  piazza, 
screamed  with  laughter. 

"Hermia,  you  act  like  you  was  Ruth's 
feller!" 

"3 


Windy  Creek 

Neither  spoke  a  word  until  across  the 
road  and  in  the  next  field ;  then  the  cousins 
glanced  at  each  other  and  simultaneously 
burst  into  merry  laughter. 


114 


SOME    NEIGHBORLY    GOSSIP 

"  My  woman,  she'll  be  in  d'rectly,"  said 
Mr.  Bunt,  removing  the  pipe  from  his  lips 
to  greet  the  Wood  cousins  at  his  door.  He 
kicked  away  the  three  yellow  shepherd  dogs 
snapping  at  their  heels,  as  he  added,  apolo- 
getically, "  The  women  alius  has  to  fix,  ye 
know." 

"  Well,  girls,  thought  you  wasn't  never 
cominV'  cried  Mrs.  Bunt,  at  that  moment 
entering  the  living-room  from  the  kitchen. 
"  Set  down,  an'  make  yourselves  to  home. 
Have  cheers.    Polly,  you  take  thur  things." 

She  was  a  comely  woman,  this  Mrs. 
Bunt ;  and  she  wore  her  hair  in  a  tight  pug 
in  the  back  corresponding  to  a  turned-up 
nose  in  front.  Her  company  gown  was  a 
wrapper  of  green  and  yellow  calico,  made 
with  a  Watteau  pleat  in  the  back 

"  Polly,  have  you  furgot  that  you-uns  is 
"5 


Windy  Creek 

a  young  lady  ?  "  continued  Mrs.  Bunt.  Her 
second  daughter  was  trying  on  the  hats  and 
wraps  that  she  had  appropriated.  "  S'pose 
you  quit  that  child  foolishness  of  tryin'  on 
other  folkses  belongings  an'  light  a  few  pine 
slivers  in  this  hyur  stove.  An'  leave  the 
front  door  open  so's  to  give  the  sun  a 
chanc't  to  warm  up.  I  laid  off  to  make  a 
fire  in  this  room,  but  someways  I  didn't  git 
around  to  it.  It's  cold-like  in  hyur — this 
room  ain't  easy  het  from  the  kitchen."  And 
their  hostess  retired  to  hasten  preparations 
for  dinner. 

"  Say,  you-uns  is  awful  fixy,"  said  Polly, 
admiringly.  She  perched  a  white  sailor  on 
her  sandy,  frizzled  head,  and  looked  side- 
wise  at  her  image  in  the  cracked  looking- 
glass.  "  You  look  good  in  this  sailor  hat 
of  yourn,  Hermia.  Your  hair  kind  o'  sticks 
out  at  the  sides,  so  you  don't  look  good 
'thout  you  have  a  hat  on." 

The  Bunt  shanty  was  built  in  the  shape 
of  a  capital  T,  the  end  of  one  long  room 
joining  the  side  of  the  other.  Log-cabin 
quilts  covered  the  beds;  the  windows  were 
hidden  by  newspaper  curtains  pinned 
ii6 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

across,  and  the  walls  were  gay  with  pict- 
ure-cards advertising  soaps  and  sewing- 
machines  and  cottolene.  The  rooms  were 
bare,  but  orderly  and  clean. 

Through  the  open  door  the  boys,  tall, 
long-legged  fellows,  were  seen  coming  in 
from  work;  they  cast  longing  glances  at 
the  table. 

"  Maw,"  said  the  younger  and  slighter 
of  the  two,  "  ain't  dinner  'most  ready  ?  I'm 
that  hungry,  I  feel  Hke  I  were  all  stove  in." 

"  In  half  a  minute,  now.  When  them 
sody  biscuits  is  browned,  we'll  set  right 
down." 

The  boys  shied  away  from  the  open  door, 
but  the  sound  of  their  voices  was  carried 
into  the  next  room. 

"  Ketch  any  rabbits  in  yur  trap  last  night, 
Ted  ?  "  This  from  Alonzo,  who  invariably 
wore  a  red  bandanna  neckerchief,  loosely 
knotted,  and  whose  features  strongly  re- 
sembled those  of  a  goose. 

"Ary  a  rabbit.     But  the  trap  ketched  a 

owl — one   of   these    yur   little   prairie-dog 

owls,  you  know.     I  packed  that  thur  trap 

out  yander  an'  set  it  on  the  side  of  the  hill 

117 


Windy  Creek 

whur  they's  likely  to  be  rabbits,  an'  this 
mornin'  yurly  I  paid  a  visit  out  thur,  an'  I 
found  a  owl  had  ben  ketched  instid  of  a 
rabbit.  But  it  were  all  et  up — all  but  one 
foot,  'n'  hyur  'tis,"  fumbling  in  his  pocket 
for  the  poor  little  foot. 

"  Well,  I  swan!  "  remarked  Alonzo;  "  I'd 
like  to  know  what  the  critter  were  that  et 
up  the  owl ;  like's  not  'twere  a  badger  or  a 
ki-ote." 

"  Say,  Lon!  "  called  Polly,  "  goin'  to  ride 
the  colt  after  the  cows  to-night?  " 

"  I  aim  to." 

"  Better  have  her  cinch  good  'n'  fast.  Us 
girls'U  watch  you  off." 

"  I'd  laugh  if  she  throwed  you,"  said  Ted. 

"  Betchoo  she  won't !  I've  rode  skittisher 
mares  'n  her  afore  now.  She  bucks  enough 
jest  to  call  to  buck — she  bucks  nice.  I've 
rode  that  mare  of  Art's,  an'  the  fellar  that 
rides  her  has  got  to  have  some  grit,  now  I 
tell  ye.  I've  seen  that  mare  jump  so  high 
that  I  could  see  the  sky  under  her." 

"  Hooray  fur  the  bronco-buster !  "  roared 
Ted. 

The  boys'  hilarious  mood  died  away  when 
ii8 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

the  guests  were  called  out  to  the  table, 
heaped  up  with  Windy  Creek  fare — soda 
biscuit,  fried  pork,  and  boiled  potatoes,  sup- 
plemented by  the  usual  cake,  pie,  and  pud- 
ding; smitten  with  sudden  shyness,  they 
bolted  their  dinner  in  silence,  staring  fur- 
tively whenever  they  thought  themselves 
unobserved. 

Hermia  essayed  to  draw  them  into  con- 
versation. 

"  Do  you  ever  shoot  any  coyotes  out 
here?'* 

Alonzo  looked  at  Ted  and  Ted  looked  at 
Alonzo,  and  both  reddened  to  the  tips  of 
their  ears.  "  Yes,  mom,  quite  a  few,'' 
Alonzo  managed  to  get  out  at  last;  and  he 
kicked  his  brother  under  the  table,  whereat 
Ted  sputtered  and  choked. 

When  the  dinner  dishes  were  washed — 
Mrs.  Bunt  "  dreened "  hers  in  place  of 
"  swilling  "  them — the  feminine  portion  of 
the  party  adjourned  to  the  living-room,  and 
the  tidal- wave  of  gossip  rolled  gently  in; 
for  as  receptive  gossips  Ruth  and  Hermia 
had  already  found  their  hostess  to  be  one 
of  those  women  who,  if  they  would  but 
"9 


Windy  Creek 

"  press  the  button/'  would  cheerfully  "  do 
the  rest." 

"Polly,"  said  Mrs.  Bunt,  "  s'posin'  you 
git  out  the  machine  an'  go  on  with  yur  red 
Henrietta  whiles  you've  got  the  chanc't. 
Her  pa  got  her  a  bran  new  dress  to  wear  to 
dances  this  winter.  Sence  she's  got  to  be 
a  young  lady,  she  can't  be  fixy  enough." 

The  girl  proudly  displayed  her  new  gar- 
ment, cut  out  and  partially  put  together. 
In  Windy  Creek  circles  basting  is  an  un- 
known science;  so  Polly  fitted  the  parts  of 
the  basque  together  without  this  prelim- 
inary step,  and  rapidly  sewed  up  the  seams 
on  the  whirring  machine. 

Mrs.  Bunt  drew  attention  to  the  wrapper 
she  was  wearing. 

"  How  do  my  tea-gownd  do  fur  noo, 
girls?  I  bought  it  to  the  Springs,  reel 
cheap.  Ninety-eight  cents  were  all  it  cost 
me.  Bein'  thick-made,  I'm  no  great  on 
wrappers,  but  this  don't  look  on  me  like  a 
wrapper  do." 

"  I  suppose  you  miss  Cicely,"  remarked 
Ruth,  when  the  "  tea-gownd  "  had  been  suf- 
ficiently admired. 

120 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

"  Her  pa  do,  dretful.  The  house  don't 
seem  quite  Hke,  with  Cis  gone.  I  kind  o' 
hated  to  see  her  leave,  an'  she  so  great  fur 
home,  but  she  said  she  weren't  goin'  to  see 
her  pa  buyin'  her  clo'es,  she'd  arn  'em  her- 
self.    She's  a  free-hearted  girl,  Cis  is." 

"  The  boys  is  layin'  oflf  to  git  her  up  a 
dance  fur  a  s'prise,  like,  when  she  gits  to 
come  home  agin,"  said  Polly  above  the 
noise  of  her  machine. 

"  Has  yur  maw  raised  many  chickens  this 
yur  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Bunt.  "  Our  aigs 
chicked  good,  and  I  aimed  fur  to  raise  a 
hundred  by  fall.  But  I  failed,  'long  o' 
Flory.  Do  you  mind  Lon's  black  shepherd  ? 
She  were  Queenie's  aunt.  She  et  forty 
chickens  or  thurabouts  fur  me  this  summer. 
She  were  awful  smart,  Queenie  were,  an'  I 
thought  'twere  rats  or  some  varmint  till  I 
come  acrost  her  unbeknownst,  one  day.  I 
see  that  dog  a-trottin'  off  with  a  chicken  in 
her  mouth  and  one  eye  on  the  house,  an'  I 
made  up  my  mind  she  were  too  'cute  fur  me. 
I  give  her  away. 

"  Is  the  milk  fallin'  oflf  much  to  your 
paw's?     Some  of  our  cows  is  commencin' 

121 


Windy  Creek 

to  strip.  That  Holstein  of  ourn's  holdin' 
out  good;  she  gives  lots  of  cream  in  her 
milk ;  she  appears  like  a  rich  cow.  'Tain't 
often  you  come  acros't  a  Holstein  that's  a 
poor  milker.  Paw,  he  laid  off  to  pack  some 
of  the  Holstein's  milk  to  his  sister — she 
lives  to  the  Springs,  an'  she's  got  a  sick 
baby.  He  had  me  to  fill  two  bottles,  cream 
'n'  all,  an'  he  hauled  them  to  town  'long  of  a 
load  o'  spuds.  But  when  he  went  fur  to 
lift  them  two  bottles  out,  they'd  broke  with 
the  joltin'  an'  the  milk  were  all  spilt.  Milk's 
onhandy  to  pack." 

In  the  short  pause  that  followed,  Polly 
observed,  "  You-uns  must  like  church ;  I  see 
you  to  the  school-house  reg'lar  on  Sun- 
days." Then,  "Don't  you-uns  think  Mr. 
Crimp  is  jest  lovely?" 

Here  was  a  poser ! 

"  He  seems  to  be  rather  a  popular  preach- 
er," said  Ruth,  evasively. 

Mrs.  Bunt's  eyes  snapped ;  she  spoke  up 
with  decision : 

"  I  an'  paw  don't  tie  to  Crimp.  The 
young  folks  they  do  think  he's  some,  but 
I   an'   paw   can't   someways   swaller   him! 

122 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

We-uns  sized  that  man  up  first  we  see  of 
him.    He's  small  potatoes,  Crimp  is." 

"  Now,  maw,"  began  Polly. 

"  I  don't  keers  if  I  do  speak  out  my  mind 
fur  onc't,  Polly;  that  man  do  preach  ser- 
mons that's  all-powerful  teedjous !  An'  he's 
got  a  most  tremenjous  good  opinion  of  his- 
self,  Crimp  has.  No  man  ain't  called  on  to 
have  no  sech  opinion  of  hisself.  I  didn't 
go  fur  to  speak  my  mind,  that-a-way," 
apologized  Mrs.  Bunt.  "  I'm  H-ble  to  have 
my  head  took  off  fur  it ;  but  it  do  rile  me,  so 
it  do." 

"  The  Fliegers  an'  the  Posts  is  stuck  on 
him,"  said  Polly,  with  tears  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  an'  the  Bitternses  and  the  Milli- 
ganses  an'  all  them  other  ninnies.  Nev- 
er mind  talkin'  now;  mebbe  you'll  oce 
Crimp  with  paw  'n'  my  eyes  one  o'  these 
days. 

"  Look  at  the  way  that  man  do  hold  up 
that  thur  fam'ly  of  hisn  over  folks's  heads, 
like  nobody  never  done  nothin'  till  the 
Crimps  was  borned!  'T  makes  me  sick. 
Know  why  his  paw  weren't  brainy,  like  his 
maw?  'Cause  his  paw's  took  up  a  claim 
123 


Windy  Creek 

out  hyur,  an'  folks  can  see  fur  thurselves 
the  old  man  ain't  got  no  brains  to  spare. 
Know  why  his  maw  were  smart  an'  rich  an' 
han'some  an'  a  Greek?  It's  this-a-way: 
his  maw  bein'  dead  an'  in  her  grave  long 
afore  Crimp  come  to  these  hyur  parts  give 
him  the  chanc't  to  claim  that  that  puddin'- 
head  of  hisn  come  .straight  from  her  side  of 
the  house.  Oh,  Crimp  give  hisself  plumb 
away  to  I  an'  paw,  he  did ! 

"  Look  at  that  man's  baptizin's ! — how 
folks  doos  resk  their  healths !  Thur's  Mal- 
viny  Milligan;  now,  she  were  dipped  last 
Sunday  an'  she  not  able  to  quit  her  bed  fur 
the  next  three  days.  That  woman's  so  frail- 
like, she  ought  to  knowed  she  couldn't  stand 
water  that-a-way.  An'  what  would  them 
little  young-uns  of  hern  do  if  thur  maw 
were  to  be  took  off,  suddent?  Thur  ain't 
no  religion  in  ketchin'  yur  death  o'  cold  an' 
leavin'  yur  young-uns  fur  a  step-mother  to 
knock  around!  Thur  ain't  ary  one  of  the 
Bitternses  has  got  a  constitootion.  I  mind 
Malviny  when  her  first  child  were  borned. 
It  were  the  fisilest  little  thing,  it  only  lived 
a  month  and  a  half.  When  it  up  an'  died, 
124 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

she  took  on  awful;  she  like  to  broke  her 
heart  over  it. 

"  Thur's  Bruce  Post's  wife,  Em ;  she's 
got  her  a  fine  baby  now  that  ain't  got  noth- 
in'  the  matter  of  it  to  begin  life  with.  It 
favors  its  paw;  its  got  blue  eyes  and  right 
blood-red  hair.  'T  seems  like  no  matter 
how  many  times  them  Posts  marry,  they 
can't  git  shed  o'  thur  red  heads.  It  breaks 
out  in  every  noo  crop  o'  children,  so  it  do. 
The  Posts,  they  hail  from  Texas.  They's 
dretful  easy  riled.  An'  they  don't  wear  sus- 
penders. I  never  see  a  Texan  yit  that 
wore  a  suspender." 

"  And  where  did  the  Bitterns  come 
from?" 

"  The  Bitternses  they  come  from  'way 
down  south  in  Virginny.  To  hyur  them 
two  girls  talk  you'd  think  they  was  niggers 
lest  you  chanc't  to  look  thur  way.  Now, 
we-uns  was  raised  down  in  Tennessee.  My 
folks  live  down  thur  yit,  an'  so  do  paw's. 
'T  seems  like  the  people  out  hyur's  from 
so  many  diff'rent  States  that  all  of  them 
talks  diff'rent.  Now  thur's  the  Fairleys, 
Claude  an'  Dave  an'  the  old  lady — they 
125 


Windy  Creek 

come  from  New  York.  The  people  that 
live  in  New  York  State,  they  is  what  you 
call  Yankee  people.  They  don't  talk  like 
the  people  do  out  West.  Whur  we-uns 
say  '  What-fur/  they  say  '  What-fore/  that- 
a-way.  It  sounds  furrin  like,  to  hyur  them 
kind  of  people  speak ;  they  is  awful  plain  to 
talk,  though.  The  Fliegers  is  south,  too, 
but  they  talk  different  from  what  we-uns 
do  agin.  The  old  lady,  she  an'  her  two 
oldest,  Rose  an'  Em,  they  was  borned  an' 
raised  in  the  State  of  Kaintucky.  The  old 
lady,  she  picked  up  Flieger  after  she  came 
out  West;  so  he  don't  count.  She  come 
out  in  a  schooner,  an'  Rose  an'  Em — they 
was  little  things  then — they  begged  on  the 
way  out  fur  the  grub  they  et.  Rose  Rooney 
she  gives  herself  airs  like  she  were  some  ; 
but  we  all  know  how  she  come  out  to  Colo- 
raydo — ragged  an'  barefoot  an'  beggin'  her 
way. 

*'  Yisterday  Rose  Rooney,  she  sent  over 
after  the  camp-fire.  That  woman  has  got 
the  most  gall  ever  I  see — to  send  over  to 
borry  an'  not  to  be  on  speakin'  terms, 
neither.  I  an'  her  hasn't  spoke  these  six 
weeks." 

126 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

"  Maw  let  her  have  the  camp-fire  bottle, 
though,"  said  Polly. 

"  Yes,  I  give  it  to  her.  It  ain't  in  me  to 
hold  back  medicines  from  a  sick  woman. 
Pete,  he  were  by  this  mornin'  an'  he  left 
the  bottle.  She'd  emptied  it,  all  right. 
Pete  Rooney,  he  makes  a  good  man  fur 
Rose,  he  do.  He's  a  awful  good  provider, 
an'  she  so  wasteful,  too.  She's  dretful 
slack  in  some  of  her  ways,  Rose  is,  fur  all 
she  slashes  'round  like  all  possessed  when 
she  gits  a  fit  o'  clairin'  up.  Cis  were  over 
to  her  house  onc't  an'  she  see  Rose  washin' 
the  dishes  in  the  butter-bowl ;  and  then  she 
took  and  scrubbed  the  floor,  a-usin'  the 
butter-bowl  fur  a  mop-bucket.  And  onc't 
she  washed  Taddy's  feet  in  the  bread-pan. 
'Tain't  safe  to  eat  victuals  of  Rose's  cookin'. 
Thur  ain't  another  man  that  I  knows  of 
that  'ud  put  up  with  her  didos  the  way  Pete 
do.  Them  little  young-uns  of  hisn  is  the 
very  apples  of  his  eye,  an'  he  won't  never 
leave  Rose,  'long  of  them.  I  feel  sorry  fur 
the  little  things  to  think  they  has  to  be 
raised  up  in  the  world  not  to  know  nothin' 
only  jest  fussin'  an'  quarrelin' — poor  Httle 
127 


Windy  Creek 

toads.  Pete,  he's  as  stiddy  an'  hard-work- 
in'  as  she  is  slack.  He's  a  Catholic,  Pete 
is ;  quiet  an'  clos't-mouthed,  not  one  to  run 
after  every  new  preacher  that  comes  along. 
But  he  won't  never  hender  Rose  from  run- 
nin',  nor  from  takin'  the  children,  neither. 
Rose,  she's  all  took  up  with  religion  an' 
sech,  an'  she  makes  a  dretful  to-do  over 
these  yur  baptizin's.  But  she  can't  hold  a 
candle  to  Pete — he's  fur  an'  away  the  best 
of  the  two,  if  he  ain't  reHgious  like  her. 
Pete,  he  got  hisself  into  hot  water  when 
he  fell  in  love  with  Rose — he  ain't  never 
had  no  peace  sence  the  day  he  laid  eyes  on 
that  woman.  He  were  workin'  fur  a  cattle- 
king  out  hyur  that  he  owed  some  money 
to,  an'  it  took  him  seven  yur  to  pay  it.  The 
cattle-king  were  uncle  to  Mis'  Flieger's 
two  oldest  girls,  Rose  an'  Em.  An'  one 
day  along  come  Rose  to  work  fur  her  uncle, 
an'  them  two  was  throwed  together,  an' 
Pete,  he  up  an'  fell  dead  in  love  with  her. 
She  were  wearin'  knee-dresses  then,  a 
gawky,  tall  thing,  but  bright's  a  razor. 
Mis'  FHeger,  she  were  figgerin'  how  to  git 
her  girls  married  off  good  an'  yurly,  an' 
128 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

she  were  dretful  smooth  to  Pete.  An*  when 
the  seven  years  were  worked  out,  Rose  an' 
Pete,  they  set  up  on  his  claim,  immediate. 
Rose,  she  weren't  fifteen  yet  when  she  were 
married;  an'  they  do  say  she  never  cared 
fur  Pete  nor  fur  ary  one  of  the  boys,  but 
were  jest  give  away  Hke  a  doll  made  out 
of  saw-dust.  When  I  hearn  about  how 
them  two  come  together,  I  were  minded  of 
Rachel  an'  Jacob,  an'  how  Jacob  served 
seven  yur  fur  Rachel.  But  them  two  didn't 
pan  out  like  the  two  done  in  the  Bible. 
Thur  ain't  ben  much  love  lost  atwixt  them 
two  over  yonder.  I  use'  to  think  Rose 
Rooney  were  right  smart  of  a  woman ;  but 
we-all  have  got  that  wore  out  by  her  two- 
facedness;  we  ain't  got  no  more  use  for 
her  nor  hern.  It's  a  heap  better  to  drop  a 
woman  like  Rose  'n  to  be  etarnally  fussin' 
with  her.  I've  ben  a  mother  to  that  woman, 
but  it  didn't  pay.  I've  took  keers  of  her 
when  she  was  sick  a-bed — she  had  a  awful 
bad  spell  with  her  head  last  fall.  Pete,  he 
were  off  to  town  yurly  that  mornin'  with  a 
load  of  spuds,  an'  he'd  left  Rose  washin' 
the  dishes,  same's  ever.  He  hadn't  gone 
129 


Windy  Creek 

above  half  a  mile  when  my  Lon,  he  came 
a-tearin'  after  him,  cryin'  that  Rose  were 
dead.  Lon,  he'd  chanc't  to  pass  Rooney's, 
an'  he'd  seen  Rose  crossin'  the  yard  with 
the  empty  swill-bucket  in  her  hand — she'd 
ben  swiUin'  the  pigs — an'  he  see  her  fall, 
an'  pick  herself  up  an'  fall  agin,  acros't  the 
door-step.  He  run  to  her,  an'  when  he  see 
her  in  a  dead  faint  he  'lowed  she  were  dead, 
an'  he  put  down  the  road  fur  Pete  's  tight 
's  he  could  go.  Pete,  he  growed  right 
white  Hke  a  cloth,  an'  he  turned  them  horses 
of  hisn  an'  went  back  on  the  lope,  load  'n' 
all.  He  gethered  Rose  up  where  she'd  fell 
an'  lay  her  on  the  bed  like  she  were  a  baby. 
When  I  come  home,  he  were  a-hanging' 
over  her,  a-cryin'  like  she'd  ben  the  best 
woman  to  him !  She  didn't  come  to  fur  an 
hour  or  more,  an'  when  she  did  she  were 
out  of  her  head.  She  were  a  awful  sick 
woman.  I  took  keers  of  that  woman  an' 
set  up  with  her  nights  an'  minded  her 
young-uns — I  were  a  mother  to  that  wom- 
an. But  law !  all  I  got  fur  it  were,  '  What 
fur  do  you  do  that-a-way  ?  '  '  Why  don't 
you  do  this-a-way  ?  '  So  I  up  an'  left.  Of 
130 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

all  the  ungratefulest,  cantankerous  women, 
Rose  Rooney  she  do  be  the  worst  I  ever 
struck. 

*'  Ain't  Jimmy  the  sensiblest  child  not  to 
be  four  yur  old  yit?  An'  so  old-like,  with 
his  talk  about  the  crops,  an'  cattle,  an'  land 
— he  knows  a  heap  about  ranchin'  a'ready. 
An'  he  minds  the  children  like  a  little  old 
man;  he's  as  stiddy  as  Pete.  He  thinks  a 
heap  of  his  daddy.  He's  only  bad  when 
his  maw's  around.  Polly  see  him  out  to 
the  potato-patch  day  before  yisterday — 
Polly,  you  tell  about  Jimmy  out  to  the  po- 
tato-patch." 

Polly  laughed. 

"Jimmy  were  out  to  his  paw's  potato- 
patch,  a-workin'  to  git  Taddy  started  fur 
home,  an'  the  young-un  didn't  want  to  go. 
After  Jimmy'd  coaxed  him  an'  jawed  him 
an'  turned  him  face  about  an'  worked  with 
him  nigh  onto  half  an  hour,  the  young-un 
set  down  flat  on  the  ground  an'  Jimmy 
couldn't  budge  him.  An'  Jimmy  he  looked 
black,  an'  he  folded  his  arms  acros't  his 
chist,  so,  an'  he  says,  says  he,  '  Gorl  darn 
sech  a  child ! '  I  were  that  tickled  at  the 
young-un  I  liked  to  died  laughin'." 
131 


Windy  Creek 

"  Em,  she's  different,"  continued  Mrs. 
Bunt.  "  She  ain't  tonguey  Hke  Rose ;  she's 
soft  in  her  ways,  an'  she  minds  her  husband 
an'  child  an'  lets  other  folkses  alone.  Her 
pa  use'  to  say  to  her  'fore  she  left  home  to 
be  married,  '  Em's  the  lady  of  the  fam'ly ! ' 
An'  I  reckon  he  were  about  right. 

"  Rose,  she  come  rightly  by  her  temper 
from  her  maw.  That  thur  woman  is  as 
cantankerous  as  a  old  cat,  an'  the  only 
raison  in  creation  I  an'  her  ain't  had  a  split 
afore  now  is  'cause  we  live  so  fur  apart. 
Her  nature's  like  a  cross-cut  saw — alius  a- 
rubbin'  aidgewise  agin  things,  an'  a-scrapin' 
an'  a-raspin',  never  iled,  an'  a-settin'  a 
body's  teeth  on  aidge  with  its  screechin'. 
Folks  that  neighbor  with  her'll  all  tell  you 
the  same  story.  I've  got  the  idee  that  she 
puts  Rose  up  to  the  most  of  her  didos. 
Rose's  alius  twic't  as  cranky  after  she's  ben 
up  to  see  her  maw,  or  her  maw  has  ben  up 
spendin'  the  day.  They  do  say  a  man  with 
any  backbone  to  him  couldn't  live  with  Mis' 
Flieger  three  days  'thout  throttlin'  her — 
she's  that  ornery.  But  Flieger,  he  could 
live  with  the  divil  himself  an'  not  git  riled. 
132 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

He's  like  a  big  lamb  'round  the  house,  an' 
he  shed's  her  jawin's  like  a  duck  docs  rain- 
water. But  I  do  despise  thees  yur  lamby- 
like  kind  of  men  that  leaves  other  folks  to 
do  thur  stewin's  fur  'em!  Flieger  sheddin' 
of  his  wife's  jawin'  only  gives  them  more 
of  a  chanc't  at  Betty.  Mis'  Flieger,  she  lays 
out  to  be  one  of  thees  yur  invaleeds  that's 
got  more'n  enough  diseases  the  matter  of 
'em  to  fill  a  Ayres  almanac.  So  she  doosn't 
pretend  to  do  no  work ;  she  jest  sets  around  ^^ 

an'  jaws  the  whole  blessed  time.  The  heft 
of  the  work  falls  onto  Betty,  bein'  as  she's 
big  an'  strong.  An'  that  pore  child,  not 
havin'  the  chanc't  to  skin  out  of  the  house 
like  her  paw,  's  got  to  hyur  the  scrapin'  an' 
the  screechin'  an'  the  raspin'  of  the  cross- 
cut saw  from  mornin'  till  night.  She's  a 
awful  free-hearted  girl,  but  it  do  wear  on 
her,  so  it  do.  Her  maw's  alius  a-tellin'  that 
she  don't  do  enough,  an'  Betty  a-killin'  her- 
self with  the  work.  I  were  over  to  Mis' 
FUeger's  one  day  an'  I  see  right  then  how 
Betty  were  put  upon  by  her  maw.  Betty 
were  right  young  then,  not  more'n  eleven 
year  old;  she  were  stouter'n  what  she  be 
^33 


Windy  Creek 

now,  an'  all  bent  over  like,  with  the  work. 
She  put  out  a  tremenjous  big  washin'  an' 
emptied  the  tubs,  an'  I  see  her  jest  drop  fur 
a  minute  onto  a  cheer  out  in  the  kitchen  to 
rest  herself.  Then  her  maw  began  to  jaw 
at  her  an'  tolt  her  to  git  right  up  an'  go  to 
churnin',  an'  cod  her  about  bein'  so  clumsy 
like.  An'  I  see  Betty  git  out  the  churn, 
an'  pour  the  cream  in,  an'  go  to  joggin' 
the  dasher  up  'n'  down,  up  'n'  down, 
with  her  fat  sides  an'  her  big  arms  jog- 
gin'  too,  an'  her  back  bent  over,  an' 
that  yellowy-white  streak  'round  her  mouth 
that  give  her  the  look  of  bein'  ready  to 
cave  in;  an'  I  jest  couldn't  hardly  holt 
in,  I  were  that  riled.  An'  all  the  while 
her  maw'd  fling  out  at  her  an'  say,  '  Betty's 
so  big,'  *  Betty's  so  fat  thur  ain't  no  shape 
to  her,'  *  Betty's  took  after  her  paw — he 
ain't  nothin'  but  a  lump  of  flesh,'  an'  sech 
like.  An'  thur  were  that  Olympy,  that  I 
could  'a'  took  an'  shook,  a-runnin'  off  out 
doors  to  play,  an'  doin'  nary  a  lick  to  help 
her  sister,  nor  her  maw  makin'  her  do  it, 
neither.  She's  her  maw's  apple  of  the  eye, 
Olympy  is;  but  you'd  better  believe  when 
134 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

Betty  leaves  home  to  git  married  her  maw 
won't  git  the  work  out  of  Lympy  that  she 
gits  out  of  Betty.  Lympy  ain't  no  hand  to 
work  in  the  house  nor  in  the  field,  neither. 
She's  a  awful  independent  child." 

''  Onc't,"  put  in  Polly,  "  Betty,  she  were 
chased  by  a  Texas  steer,  an'  she  went  to 
roll  under  a  barb-wire  fence,  an'  she  got 
caught  an'  tore  awful.  She  wouldn't  say  a 
word  about  it  to  home,  but  kep'  it  to  her- 
self fur  fear  her  maw'd  badger  her  afore 
folks  fur  bein'  so  big  an'  clumsy  that  she 
couldn't  roll  quick  under  a  fence.  She  kep' 
in  about  it  till  her  maw  come  on  her  unbe- 
knownst the  next  day,  rollin'  over  on  the 
floor  an'  cryin'  from  the  pain — she's  that 
feared  of  her  maw's  tongue." 

"  They  do  say,"  went  on  Mrs.  Bunt, 
"  her  'n'  Curly  O'Coole  will  make  a  match. 
He's  little  an'  red-headed,  an'  she's  about 
as  opposite  as  could  be.  He's  old,  nigh 
onto  thirty,  I  should  reckon,  an'  twic't  her 
age — she's  fourteen.  He's  quite  a  beau,  an' 
a  man  of  the  world  asides — he's  got  him  a 
ranch  in  South  Americy,  an'  he's  ben  all 
over.  Folks  says  Flieger  he's  held  out  all 
135 


Windy  Creek 

sorts  of  indoocements  to  that  man  to  take 
his  daughter  off  his  hands,  an'  Curly,  he  do 
appear  to  be  dancin'  attendance  ruther 
lively. 

"  Have  you-uns  seen  Miss  Staver,  the 
school-teacher  that  were  hired  to  teach  our 
school  last  yur?  You'd  jest  ought  to  see 
her,  she's  a  awful  independent  woman! 
Mis'  Flieger,  she  boarded  her  when  she 
first  come  out  hyur ;  an'  she  were  that  riled 
when  Miss  Staver  quit  her  at  the  end  of 
three  weeks  an'  got  boardin'  with  the  Jen- 
kinses, whur  she  didn't  have  no  wash-bowl 
nor  pitcher,  an'  had  to  sleep  with  the  chil- 
dren, three-a-bed.  Mis'  Flieger  had  went 
to  a  lot  of  trouble  fur  her — she'd  fixed  up 
the  room  fine,  an'  give  the  teacher  a  wash- 
bowl an'  pitcher  an'  half  a  bed  to  herself. 
But  she  turned  up  her  nose  an'  left.  Said 
Flieger's  was  too  religious  fur  her ;  Flieger, 
he  has  fam'ly  prayers  an'  as'ts  a  blessin'  at 
the  table.  Mis'  Flieger,  she  said  she'd  had 
enough  of  it — she  were  leary  of  school- 
teachers— they  might  lie  on  the  ground 
after  this,  fur  all  her.  Folks  likes  Crimp 
fur  a  teacher  a  sight  better'n  they  done  Miss 
136 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

Staver — they  do  say  he  gives  satisfaction, 
all  right.  They  say  she  never  learnt  the 
little  ones  a  single  thing,  an'  at  the  end  of 
the  yur  ary  a  letter  of  thur  alphabet  did  the 
little  things  know!  Why,  when  I  were  a 
young-un,  the  first  thing  they  done  to  me 
were  to  make  me  learn  ofif  my  alphabet 
backwards !  She  were  that  smart,  she  were 
layin'  of¥  to  learn  them  young-uns  to  read 
'thout  learnin'  them  thur  letters — *  word  ' 
readin'  she  called  it,  or  some  sech  fool 
name.  Now  Crimp,  he's  teached  three 
weeks  an'  a  half,  an'  he's  a-skimmin'  the 
little  things  along  so  fast  he's  got  'em  all 
in  the  second  reader  a'ready — ^the  old  folks 
is  awful  tickled  over  it.  Miss  Staver  she 
wanted  the  school,  agin  this  yur  an'  she  fit 
hard  fur  it.  But  Crimp,  he  were  eetchin' 
fur  the  job,  too,  an'  he  didn't  have  to  rustle 
none,  seein'  he  were  in  with  all  three  of  the 
directors  at  the  election;  the  school  were 
hisn  almost  afore  he  as't  fur  it.  They  give 
good  wages  to  our  school;  forty  dollars  a 
month  or  thereabouts.  Miss  Staver,  she 
didn't  stand  no  show  at  all.  She  queered 
herself  in  this  country  last  spring  when  she 
137 


Windy  Creek 

licked  Will  Spruce.  Didn't  ye  ever  hyur 
about  that?  Well,  I  swan!  It  were  the 
talk  of  Windy  Crick. 

"  It  were  this-a-way.  Will  Spruce,  he 
were  sweet  on  Miss  Staver,  but  he  were 
dretful  backward  an'  tongue-tied  at  spark- 
in'.  He  were  the  tallest  boy  in  school, 
but  stoop-shouldered  like,  an'  spindly  in 
the  legs — kind  o'  delicate.  He  were  dret- 
ful smart  at  his  books — him  an'  Raleigh 
Post  was  the  best  scholars  in  school.  He'd 
took  up  with  some  of  these  fancy  studies 
'long  o'  Miss  Staver,  an'  I've  hearn  he  were 
away  up  in  botomy,  like.  But  Miss  Staver, 
she's  a  man-hater,  if  there  ever  was  one; 
she  took  it  out  on  the  boys  at  school ;  they 
say  she  were  never  without  one  or  two  of 
the  little  fellars  a-cryin'  'round  her  desk. 
You'd  know  her  if  you  see  her.  She  wears 
eye-glasses  with  a  little  gold  chain  danglin' 
over  one  yur,  codfish  style,  an'  her  hair 
slicked  straight  back  'thout  ary  a  friz — ^jest 
cut  out  fur  a  old  maid.  Well !  she  see  Will 
Spruce  kind  o'  hangin'  around  her,  an'  the 
other  boys  pokin'  fun  at  him,  an'  the  folks 
where  she  boarded  at  plaguin'  her,  an'  she 
laid  ofl  to  git  even  with  him  fur  it.  Fur 
138 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

jest  nothin'  at  all,  she  jumped  on  him  one 
day.  She'd  made  a  rule  that  thur  shouldn't 
be  no  swearin'  on  the  playground ;  an'  one 
recess  Will  he  dropped  a  swear-word  afore 
he  thought,  an'  she  hearn  him  out  o'  the 
winder.  She  called  school,  an'  then  she 
called  Will  up  to  her  desk,  an'  took  out  her 
ferule.  The  scholars  said  Will  turned 
white's  a  cloth,  but  he  never  said  a  word, 
jest  looked  at  her.  She  were  a  little  thing, 
he  could  'a'  whipped  her,  easy.  She  looked 
him  over,  an'  then  she  called  Sam  Peters 
up;  Sam,  he's  heavy-built.  She  tolt  Sam 
to  holt  Will  down  fur  her ;  an',  would  you 
believe  it,  he  done  what  she  tolt  him  to. 
She  give  Will  a  most  tremenjous  wallerpin', 
afore  the  whole  school,  an'  ary  one  of  them 
big  boys  an'  girls  stirrin'  out  of  thur  seats 
to  stop  her — all  scairt  an'  brow-beat  by  that 
little  thing,  not  twenty-one!  Sam  Peters, 
he  felt  dretful  bad  about  it,  he  hadn't  noth- 
in'  agin  Will,  nothin'  at  all;  but  when  he 
were  as't  why  he  held  Will  he  said  he  jest 
thought  he  had  to,  he  jest  couldn't  help  but 
mind  that  school-teacher !  Will  Spruce,  he 
didn't  show  hisself  at  home  nor  no  place 
139 


Windy  Creek 

else  fur  a  week,  an'  he  quit  school  fur  good. 
His  paw  'n'  maw  'n'  sisters,  they  was  awful 
mad  at  Miss  Staver.  The  whole  neighbor- 
hood were  down  on  her.  Law,  she  didn't 
keers  none,  went  around  holdin'  her  head's 
high  as  ever.  But  she  lost  her  school  fur 
next  yur  by  it.  Folks  out  hyur  won't  never 
hire  her  agin." 

Mrs.  Bunt's  pleasant  tones  flowed  on : 
"  They's  likely  to  be  two  or  three  wed- 
din's  on  hand  afore  long;  the  young  folks 
on  Windy  Crick  appear  to  be  takin'  a  out 
'n'  out  shine  to  each  other  of  late.  But 
they's  one  weddin'  I  don't  want  to  see  nor 
hyur  of,  an'  that's  Jean's  an'  Art's  weddin'. 
Jean  McLeod's  right  smart  of  a  woman, 
now.  Jest  look  how  that  girl  has  helped 
her  paw !  Thur  ain't  many  girls  would  do 
like  her — help  in  the  house,  an'  work  in  the 
field,  an'  go  to  school,  an'  sew  out,  an'  take 
keers  of  little  Aureely  so  well.  She's  a  dret- 
ful  stiddy-hearted  girl,  Jean  is.  The  fellar 
that  gits  her  will  git  a  good  wife.  Some 
says  she  liked  Will  Spruce  reel  well — she 
liked  to  cried  her  eyes  out  when  he  got  that 
lickin'  to  the  school-house — but  they  say 
140 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

Will  don't  take  no  shine  to  the  girls  sence 
Miss  Staver  more'n  jilted  him.  Jean  an' 
Miss  Staver  was  awful  thick,  onc't,  but  I 
reckon  the  trouble  with  Will  Spruce  has 
parted  'em  fur  good.  An'  now  folks  do  say 
how  Jean  goes  with  Art  Post  to  spite  Will. 
Beats  all  how  the  young  folks  doos  mix 
thurselves  up  in  theesyur  love-affairs  of 
theirn.  Why  can't  they  have  some  sense? 
Mis'  McLeod,  she's  broke  in  her  looks  an' 
aged-like  sence  Jean  began  to  keep  com- 
p'ny  with  Art.  She  see  one  of  her  daugh- 
ters wigged  off  by  one  of  them  Post  boys, 
an'  that  one  has  ben  too  many  fur  her. 
Madge  McLeod,  she  were  as  much  of  a  lady 
as  Jean  afore  she  set  eyes  on  Mort  Post, 
but  she  were  high-steppin'  an'  head-strung, 
like  a  colt  afore  it's  ben  broke  in.  She's  had 
enough  to  break  her  in  sence  her  marriage, 
but  she's  not  ben  broke  in  right.  She's  like 
one  of  theesyur  hard-mouthed,  vixiny 
broncos  that's  took  the  bit  in  thur  mouth 
an'  won't  stop  fur  no  one.  Thur  ain't  hard- 
ly a  dance  but  what  she's  at,  a-packin'  all 
her  young-uns  to,  an'  a-robbin'  the  little 
things  of  thur  sleep.  She  lives  hard  an' 
141 


Windy  Creek 

she  works  hard,  an'  she  dances  hard.  She's 
got  a  awful  bold,  brassy  look  out  of  her 
eyes,  that  woman  has.  Mis'  McLeod,  she 
tried  to  make  the  best  of  it,  an'  she  an'  Jean 
done  a  heap  fur  Madge's  children.  But 
they  was  a  racket  atwixt  old  man  Post  an' 
old  man  McLeod,  an'  Post's  boys,  they  all 
took  it  up,  an'  Madge,  she  sided  with  her 
man's  folks;  an'  now  she  won't  speak  to 
her  paw  'n'  maw,  nor  have  nothin'  to  do 
with  'em.  I  see  that  woman  one  Sunday 
to  the  school-house  come  suddent  on  Mis' 
McLeod  an'  Httle  Aureely  settin'  by  them- 
selves on  a  bench;  an'  if  she  didn't  fling 
her  head  high,  an'  jerk  past  her  maw !  Mis' 
McLeod,  she  set  still  like  a  stone,  lookin' 
straight  ahead  of  her,  with  a  kind  of  crazy 
look  out  of  her  eyes  like  she  were  a-weary 
of  this  life.  I  don't  blame  the  woman. 
She'd  ruther  see  Jean  in  her  grave  than 
jined  to  another  Post.  An'  now  hyur's  lit- 
tle Aureely  comin'  on ;  Mis'  McLeod'll  soon 
have  another  growed-up  daughter  on  her 
hands." 

Her  guests  wished  to  know  if  Mrs.  Bunt 
meant  either  of  the  Bittern  girls  when  she 
142 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

spoke  of  weddings  near  at  hand,  remark- 
ing that  the  sisters  seemed  to  be  favorites 
with  the  young  men. 

"  They's  sech  favor-ites  they  ain't  ary 
beau  left  fur  none  of  the  other  girls ;  them 
two  takes  more'n  thur  share.  But  girls  will 
be  girls !  If  they  ain't  a  mite  stingy  about 
anything  else,  when  it  comes  to  beaus, 
thur's  ary  a  girl  but  what'U  take  all  she  can 
git,  an'  other  folks  can  do  without." 

''  What  a  pretty  creature  Diantha  is ! " 
remarked  Ruth. 

Mrs.  Bunt  pursed  up  her  mouth. 

"  Dianthy  ain't  got  much  to  boast  on  in 
the  way  of  looks;  she's  right  skinny;  you 
kin  almost  see  that  girl's  bones  a-stickin' 
out.  An'  Stelle's  black  as  a  Injun.  Betty 
Flieger,  now,  she's  a  right  smart  prettier'n 
them  two ;  she's  got  a  pulpy  face,  an'  a  clean 
skin  on  it,  an'  she's  well  fed  an'  hearty  look- 
in',  though  she  do  be  some  stouter'n  what 
she'd  ought  to  be.  But  them  Bittern  girls, 
they  don't  need  looks  to  hold  thur  own. 
They  is  peart-like  girls,  an'  powerful  easy 
mannered  with  the  boys.  I  reckon  that's 
why  the  boys  take  to  'em  so.  Ary  dance 
143 


Windy  Creek 

doos  them  two  miss,  nor  ary  religious 
meetin',  neither.  I  tell  my  girls,  when  they 
gits  to  jawin'  over  the  boys  all  goin'  fur 
Dianthy  an'  Stelle,  '  It's  the  girls  that's  the 
most  Hfe-like  that  ketches  the  boys,'  says  I. 
'N'  that's  what.  Dianthy,  she's  got  three 
or  four  on  her  string,  constant;  thur's 
Raleigh  Post,  he's  mashed  on  her,  an'  Phil 
Schuyler  a-hangin'  'round,  an'  Hal  Hopper 
a-castin'  sheep's-eyes  after  her.  Two  yur 
back  Claude  Fairley,  he  tried  to  git  to  go 
with  her,  but  she  give  him  the  bounce  in  a 
hurry.  The  boys  they  badgered  him  good, 
an'  he  got  his  mad  up,  an'  flung  out  at  her 
when  she  weren't  around,  an'  smutched  her 
some.  It  ain't  jest  safe  fur  a  girl  to  give 
Claude  Fairley  the  send-off.  But  I  reckon 
Dianthy  don't  keers  none.  Sence  Soph 
Crimp's  come  sparkin'  'round,  Dianthy  nor 
Stelle  neither  can't  see  nobody  but  him. 
Windy  Crick  ain't  big  enough  to  hold  ary 
boy  but  Soph  or  ary  man  but  Crimp.  It's 
Soph's  city  ways  has  took  them  girls.  He 
do  seem  a  likely  feller  enough,  Soph  doos, 
but  he  can't  help  but  take  some  after  that 
swelled  head  onto  his  paw.  Them  young 
144 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

folks  gits  to  go  to  school  from  corn-huskin' 
till  potato-plantin',  'long  o'  the  open  win- 
ters; an'  there's  a  right  smart  of  courtin' 
gits  aidged  in  alongside  of  the  book-learn- 
in',  an'  don't  you  furgit  it.  They's  a 
toler'ble  big  school  to  our  distric',  twenty- 
eight  or  thurabouts,  they  make  it." 

"  They  was  a  racket  up  to  the  school- 
house  last  week — did  you-uns  hyur  about 
it  ?  "  asked  Polly.  "  They  was  two  fights, 
all  girls,  an'  Stelle  Bittern  in  it  both  times. 
Stelle  fit  with  Betty  Flieger  an'  had  a  scrap 
with  Huldah  Moss,  both  inside  of  the  week. 
The  teacher  were  jest  a-callin'  school — he 
were  goin'  to  the  door  ringin'  the  bell — an' 
Stelle  an'  Betty  was  stoopin'  under  the 
wire  fence  both  a-jawin'  fur  all  they  w?s 
wuth,  an'  jest  as  Mr.  Crimp  got  to  the  door, 
Stelle  she  up  an'  hit  Betty  a  Hck  right  in 
the  eye.  Betty  grabbed  holt  of  her,  an' 
they  had  it  up  'n'  down — oh,  it  were  awful ! 
Mr.  Crimp,  he  tried  to  stop  them,  an'  Soph, 
he  rushed  in  an'  were  goin'  to  make  them 
quit.  But  Mrs.  Despard,  you  know  the 
grass-widder  that  lives  by  herself  on  a 
claim,  she  come  by,  an'  she  wouldn't  let 
145 


Windy  Creek 

nobody  stop  them ;  wanted  to  see  fair  play, 
she  said.  Then  jest  a  few  days  after  that, 
Stelle  had  another  row  with  Huldah  Moss 
— she's  twic't  as  big  as  Stelle,  and  twic't  as 
old.  They  was  scrappin'  all  the  mornin', 
but  nobody  thought  'twas  goin'  to  turn  out 
like  that.  It  was  jest  after  noon-time,  an' 
we  was  scramblin'  to  our  seats.  Stelle 
slapped  Huldah  in  the  face,  an'  they  fit 
an'  fell  over  the  desks.  Oh,  it  were  jest 
awful!  I  don't  know  what  got  into  the 
girls — someway  they  didn't  act  like  thur- 
selves." 

"  Them  Bittern  girls,  they  ain't  never  had 
no  raisin',  pore  things,"  said  Mrs.  Bunt. 
"  That's  a  queer  paw  o'  theirn.  Thur  paw 
he  never  'lows  them  girls  to  go  nowhurs 
'thout  he  goes  along — some  says  to  purtec' 
them.  I  never  see  sech  a  man  to  be  on  the 
go — -'less  it  were  a  young  man;  he's  at 
every  dance  they  is.  Some  says  he  do  set 
great  store  by  them  girls  of  hisn,  to  pilot 
them  'round  so.  Law,  we-uns  knows  a  dif- 
ferent turie  to  that.  Some  says  them  Bit- 
tern girls  has  it  hard  an'  heavy  to  home; 
some  says  thur  paw  lays  hands  on  them 
146 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

two  an'  uses  them  downright  cruel,  an'  they 
not  doin'  a  thing  to  rile  him/' 

The  visitors  suspended  their  needle-work 
to  gaze  in  inquiring  silence  at  Mrs.  Bunt, 
who  continued,  placidly: 

"  It's  goin'  about  that  Dan  Bittern's  a 
evil  man  to  them  two  girls  of  hisn.  That 
man,  he's  got  the  face  of  a  prowler;  he 
shows  it  in  the  face.  Folks  do  say  he's  the 
orneriest  man  that  ever  drawed  the  breath 
of  life,  an'  he  the  father  of  growed-up 
girls  that's  been  left  to  him  this  dozen  year 
an'  more  by  thur  maw  a-dyin'.  Dianthy 
an'  Stelle,  they  was  little  things  when  thur 
maw  was  took  off,  an'  thur  paw  broke  up 
an'  packed  the  fam'ly  off  to  Injun  Territory. 
Them  girls  jest  growed  up  with  the  wild 
Injuns.  Then  they  come  out  hyur  to  Colo- 
raydo  in  a  perairie  schooner.  He's  knowed 
to  drink,  that  man  is.  We-uns  have  hearn 
how  he  draws  a  pension  every  quarter — 
he  fit  with  the  North,  an'  that's  how  he 
comes  to  draw  a  pension — an'  folks  says 
he  drinks  it  up,  every  drop  of  it,  an'  them 
girls  of  hisn  a-starvin'  an'  a-freezin'.  You 
won't  never  hyur  it  from  them  girls,  law, 
147 


Windy  Creek 

them  two  is  as  close-mouthed !  But  Dian- 
thy,  she's  come  to  show  it  in  her  looks.  I 
never  see  a  girl  so  deathly  'feared  of  any- 
body in  all  my  horned  days !  It's  growed 
on  her,  too.  She's  come  to  have  a  scairt 
look  in  her  eyes  whenever  her  paw's  by. 
Some  says  her  bein'  so  scairt  of  him  makes 
it  all  the  wuss  fur  her  to  home.  When  he 
comes  nigh  her,  she'll  draw  back  suddent, 
like  she  were  goin'  to  be  hit.  I  reckon  that 
riles  him,  an'  when  he's  alone  in  the  house 
with  her  he  lams  her  good  fur  it.  I  reckon 
he  gives  her  six  Hcks  to  Stelle's  one,  jest 
fur  why  she's  'feared  of  him  an'  Stelle  ain't. 
Stelle,  now,  she  kin  take  her  own  part  an' 
sass  back;  an'  if  she  do  git  a  lick  now  'n' 
then,  she  don't  take  on  over  it  like  it  were 
a  killin'  matter ;  she  don't  keers,  like  Dian- 
thy  do.  Dianthy,  she's  all  broke  up,  like, 
when  she's  struck.  An'  her  paw's  that 
mean  she  gits  the  heft  of  the  licks,  folks 
says.  I've  hearn  things,  an'  them  we  neigh- 
bor with  has  tolt  things,  an'  the  children, 
they've  see  things.  Polly,  she  an'  Betty 
Flieger,  they  walked  over  to  Bitternses  one 
Sunday  evenin'  to  git  the  girls  to  go  to 
148 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

meetin'  'long  of  them.  When  they  was 
goin'  down  the  slope  of  the  hill  to  the  house 
they  hearn  screams  an'  sobs  so  piti'ble  Hke 
they  was  'feared  to  go  on.  But  they  pushed 
ahead,  an'  when  they  come  to  knock  the 
sounds  hushed  up  an'  it  growed  so  still 
they  could  'a'  hearn  a  whisper  inside.  Dan 
Bittern,  he  opened  the  door,  an'  peek  as 
they  might,  they  couldn't  see  ary  one  of 
the  girls,  an'  when  they  as't  fur  them  he 
says,  gruff,  like  a  dog,  he  s'posed  they'd 
gone  to  meetin'.  So  they  went  on  to  the 
meetin',  but  the  Bittern  girls  wasn't  thur, 
of  course  not.  Next  day  at  school,  Polly, 
she  as't  Dianthy  about  it.  An',  would  you- 
uns  believe  me?  That  girl,  she  looked 
Polly  straight  in  the  eye,  an'  tolt  off  a  lie 
jest  as  slick  as  anything.  She  claimed 
her  'n'  Stelle'd  ben  havin'  a  game  of  romps 
together,  an'  they  got  high,  a-screechin' 
an'  a-hollerin',  an'  when  the  knock  come 
they  hid,  thinkin'  it  were  some  of  the  boys 
come  a-callin',  an'  bein'  plagued  to  show 
thurselves,  after  bein'  ketched  hollerin'  that- 
a-way.  An'  Stelle,  she  tolt  off  the  same 
story,  like  she'd  learnt  it  by  heart.  '  Queer 
149 


Windy  Creek 

game  of  romps,  thet/  says  I,  when  Polly 
come  an'  tolt  me. 

"  You  can't  someways  blame  the  girls  for 
bein'  flirty,  an'  clairin'  out  from  house  'n' 
home  every  whip  stitch  when  thur's  a 
chanc't  fur  a  good  time.  I'd  do  more,  I'd 
stay  claired  out  if  I  was  them.  'F  I  were 
Dianthy  I'd  git  me  a  man  right  soon,  an' 
set  up  in  my  own  house  whur  I'd  git  shed 
o'  my  paw,  an'  be  let  be.  She'd  do  better 
to  take  up  with  Raleigh  Post  than  with  ary 
boy  of  Crimp's.  Raleigh'd  make  a  good 
man  fur  Dianthy.  Them  two  youngest 
boys  of  Post's  is  reel  smart,  stiddy  boys,  if 
they  do  be  Posts.  Raleigh  ain't  like  Art. 
He  lays  off  to  teach  our  school  one  of  these 
days,  so  he  do.  He's  right  bright  at  fig- 
gers,  an'  he's  the  best  speller  in  school. 
But  Dianthy  don't  keers  no  more  fur  Ra- 
leigh bein'  'round  than  she  does  fur  a  fly 
buzzin'  at  her  yur.  Thur's  another  that  'ud 
marry  her  to-morrow,  if  she'd  have  him,  an' 
that's  Phil  Schuyler.  Her'n  Phil  'ud  make 
a  toler'ble  good  match.  He's  one  of  these 
fellers  that's  alius  got  his  mouth  stretched 
fur  a  laugh — he's  a  awful  tease.  But  he's 
ISO 


Some  Neighborly  Gossip 

dretful  slow  with  his  sparkin';  he  ain't  in 
no  hurry;  he's  waitin'  fur  Soph  to  git  out 
o'  his  way — an'  every  other  feller;  he  ain't 
never  goin'  to  say  the  word  till  he's  sure 
of  his  girl.  He's  foreman  of  a  big  cattle- 
ranch  north-like  of  hyur,  an'  he  owns  quite 
a  few  head  of  cattle  in  his  own  right.  Thur's 
some  that  says  he's  clos't-fisted  with  his 
money,  an'  thur's  others  that  says  he  drinks 
some — he  goes  off  on  a  spree  onc't  in  a 
while  an'  never  comes  back  till  he's  all 
bunged  up;  but  that  don't  happen  very 
often.  He's  reel  stiddy,  mostly.  I'd  take 
Phil  rather'n  stay  'long  o'  my  paw,  if  I 
were  Dianthy.  I'd  take  Hal  Hopper,  yes  I 
would !  "  warmly  protested  Mrs.  Bunt  at  a 
laugh  from  Polly.  "  I  can't  someways 
make  out  why  Hal  don't  take  with  you 
young  folks.  Thur  ain't  nothin'  the  matter 
of  him  'cep'in'  he's  scairt  of  hisself,  an'  easy 
deviled;  an'  he's  a  little  queer.  It  appears 
like  the  boys  is  all  down  on  him,  an'  the 
girls  won't  ary  one  of  'em  go  with  him. 
But  if  Dianthy  don't  quit  foolin'  with  Soph 
she'll  git  left.  Her  chanc't  to  git  married 
ain't  a-goin'  to  last  long.  She's  growin' 
151 


Windy  Creek 

old,  an'  she's  begun  to  show  her  age  in  her 
face.  She  ain't  as  young  as  she  use'  to  be. 
The  fellars'U  begin  to  shy  off  after  awhiles." 
A  light  skirmishing  of  the  wind  about  the 
door  warned  the  guests  to  break  away  from 
gossip's  •  fascination.  An  army  of  tumble- 
weeds  escorted  them  homeward;  a  most 
laughable  spectacle  it  was — countless  hulk- 
ing brown  bunches  rolling  and  bouncing 
and  airily  skipping  across  the  prairie,  all 
headed  north,  and  marching,  almost  as  if 
imbued  with  life,  before  the  wind. 


152 


VI 

FREE  METHODISM  VERSUS  CAMPBELLITISM. 

Already,  at  the  close  of  its  first  year,  the 
star  of  Mr.  Crimp's  popularity  was  on  the 
wane.  Another  form  of  religion  had  arisen 
in  Windy  Creek ;  and  before  the  Hght  of  the 
new  faith  the  old  was  fading  away. 

One  sunny  Sabbath  morning  of  the  Wood 
cousins'  second  September  in  the  rain-belt, 
two  congregations  filled  the  school-house, 
each  expectant  of  a  sermon  from  its  own 
particular  shepherd.  The  forces  had  met ; 
the  opposing  factions,  worshipping  here  on 
alternate  Sundays,  to-day  had  clashed,  ow- 
ing to  some  blunder  in  the  notices  given 
out.  Their  leaders  were  late  in  coming; 
and,  moved  by  a  spirit  of  contention  long 
harbored,  the  waiting  flocks  fell  to  disput- 
ing. 

While  their  elders  wrangled,  the  young 
people,  sitting  together  now  on  benches 
153 


Windy  Creek 

near  the  door,  flirted  openly.  In  these,  his 
loyal  followers,  the  subtle  influence  of  Mr. 
Crimp  was  traceable;  for  more  especially 
were  the  impressionable  natures  of  the 
young  stamped  with  the  personality  of  him 
who  had  been  their  pedagogue  as  well  as 
preacher  for  a  twelve-month;  there  was  a 
freedom  from  former  stiflfness ;  a  certain  as- 
surance of  manner;  a  disposition  to  trifle 
with  serious  subjects ;  a  smartness  in  dress. 
A  pleased  agitation  possessed  their  giddy 
souls.  Far  from  feeling  concerned  as  to 
their  spiritual  welfare,  their  minds  were 
swayed  by  temporal  things,  not  the  least  of 
these  being  personal  adornment.  The  sun- 
bonnet  was  in  its  decline.  The  girls  had 
their  hair  frizzed;  they  wore  cotton  mitts, 
and  large  hats,  trimmed  high  with  gaudy 
flowers.  The  young  men  flaunted  neck- 
ties and  paper  collars.  A  bright  plaid  ging- 
ham, with  balloon  sleeves,  bedecked  the 
plump  person  of  Betty  Flieger.  Diantha 
and  Estelle  Bittern  were  like  blue  and  pink 
morning  glories  in  their  sateens,  whose 
cheap  splendor  a  summer's  wear  had  some- 
what faded. 

154 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

A  rumor  starting  at  the  open  door  ran 
around  the  room.  The  two  preachers, 
coming  from  opposite  directions,  were  said 
to  be  nearing  the  school-house.  The  dis- 
putants drew  apart.  Silence  fell.  A  hushed 
expectancy  sharpened  every  face. 

Mr.  Crimp,  walking  very  fast  and  swing- 
ing a  stout  cane,  his  face  scarlet,  his  eyes 
scintillating,  gained  the  steps  and  then  the 
door  two  minutes  in  advance  of  his  rival. 
With  his  pompous  strut  he  swung  quickly 
down  the  aisle ;  he  laid  his  hat  and  stick  on 
the  desk,  and  amidst  indignant  glances 
from  the  Free  Methodist  saints  seated  on 
the  right  hand  of  the  pulpit,  he  felt  in  his 
breast-pocket  for  the  accustomed  handker- 
chief to  polish  his  scarlet  face. 

A  young  man  of  pious  mien,  who  half 
rose  out  of  his  seat  with  a  protesting  growl 
of  "  Hold  on  there !"  was  pulled  unceremo- 
niously backward  by  Mr.  Flieger,  and 
quieted  with  an  audible  whispering  in  the 
ear. 

There  now  appeared  in  the  doorway  the 
Free  Methodist  Evangelist.  His  wife  and 
nine  children  came  trooping  after.  The 
155 


Windy  Creek 

pale  mother,  with  her  six-weeks'  infant  in 
her  arms,  sat  down  in  the  Amen  Corner, 
while  her  eldest  born,  a  pinched  and  care- 
worn Martha,  guided  the  younger  children 
to  the  left  of  the  pulpit.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  the  father,  apparelled  in  a  yellow 
linen  duster,  and  the  infant,  wrapped  about 
with  a  scrap  of  shawl,  the  entire  family  was 
dressed  out  in  rusty  black. 

"  Good-mornin',  Brother  Stamper ! ''  ob- 
served the  man  of  Christian  faith ;  but  the 
deep  flush  in  his  face  belied  the  spright- 
liness  of  his  tone. 

"  Good-morning,  Brother  Crimp." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  The 
audience  stared  with  hard  intensity.  Some 
in  the  rear  of  the  room  stood  up,  and  others 
craned  their  necks  to  see.  Even  the  flip- 
pant breeze  at  play  without  stopped  to 
listen. 

"  I  believe  I  see  you  in  the  wrong  place. 
Brother  Crimp,"  said  the  Free  Methodist, 
mildly. 

"  I  guess  you're  mistaken,  sir.  My  place 
is  behind  this  desk,  and  I  propose  to  stay 
here."  Mr.  Crimp's  countenance  was  red 
with  wrath.  • 

156 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

Mr.  Flieger  sprang  to  his  feet  with  vio- 
lence. He  had  been  fuming  in  his  seat  for 
some  moments,  and  could  sit  still  no  longer. 
"  Look-a-here !  What  in  Sam  Hill  do  you 
take  us  Free  Methodists  for?  Us  sisters 
and  brethren  ain't  to  be  fooled  out  of  our 
sermon  so  easy !  We  come  here  a-purpose 
to  listen  to  Brother  Stamper's  preachin', 
and  if  Brother  Stamper  ain't  a-goin'  to  be 
let  preach,  then  we'll  stampede  back  to  our 
homes,  and  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  in 
holy  communion  with  the  Lord.  Us  sis- 
ters and  brethren " 

"  Hold  on,  Brother  Flieger !"  expostu- 
lated Brother  Stamper,  "  Fm  willing  for 
you  to  listen  to  the  brother,  and  the  whole 
congregation,  too.  I'd  as  lief  listen  my- 
self, for  a  change.-' 

Mr.  Crimp's  eyes  shot  green  lights. 
Magnanimity,  except  on  his  own  part,  was 
distasteful  to  him. 

"  There  seems  to  be  some  mistake  about 
this  here  preachin'. 

"  Accordin'  to  my  ears,  and  I  guess  Fve 
got  just  as  good  hear  in'  apparatus  as  any 
Free  Methodist  here,  it  was  give  out  last 
157 


Windy  Creek 

Sunday  that  Sophocles  Crimp,  senior,  was 
to  hold  this  here  platform  in  this  here 
school-house  to-day.  IVe  got  my  sermon 
ready  prepared.  But  I  don't  propose  to  be 
hoggish  about  it.  I  move  we  refer  the 
matter  to  the  school  board.  I'm  willin'  to 
abide  by  their  decision,"  said  Mr.  Crimp, 
pleasantly.  "  Eh,  Brother  Stamper  ?  Ain't 
that  square  ?" 

Since  the  august  body  referred  to  con- 
sisted of  but  one  Free  Methodist  and  two 
of  his  own  flock,  Mr.  Crimp  felt  perfectly 
safe  in  proposing  a  settlement  of  the  diffi- 
culty by  arbitration. 

The  school  board  retired  to  the  entry  with 
a  great  stamping  of  cow-hide  boots. 

The  result  of  a  whispered  consultation 
was  a  decision  in  favor  of  the  Campbellites. 

Brother  Stamper  smiled  feebly,  and 
backed  oflf  from  the  pulpit.  But  Mr.  Flie- 
ger  was  made  of  different  stuff.  He  put  on 
his  hat,  with  an  angry  clap,  and  as  one  man 
the  entire  Free  Methodist  congregation 
rose,  and  straightway  made  for  the  door. 

A  voice  seldom  raised  in  religious  con- 
troversy now  made  itself  heard  above  the 
158 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

clatter,  and  arrested  those  going  forth; 
some  who  were  already  outside  came  back, 
and  put  their  heads  in  at  the  door.  Mr 
Bunt,  a  man  not  to  be  bound  by  creeds,, 
moved  that  the  united  congregations  listen 
to  two  sermons,  the  first  by  Brother  Stamp- . 
er,  the  second  by  Brother  Crimp ;  and  fur- 
ther proposed  that  the  question  be  settled 
by  a  rising  vote. 

The  vote  was  speedily  taken.  The  ma- 
jority signifying  their  willingness  to  listen 
to  two  sermons,  both  Free  Methodists  and 
Christians  remained  in  their  seats,  and  the 
long-delayed  services  began. 

Mr.  Crimp,  with  tilted  chair  and  folded 
arms,  and  head  thrown  well  back  on  his 
shoulders,  tolerated  the  sermon  that  fol- 
lowed ;  his  features  were  set  in  a  contempt- 
uous smile  that  became  them  well. 

The  spare  figure  of  the  Free  Methodist 
preacher  stepped  forward;  his  linen-duster 
flapped  about  his  knees;  the  long,  lean 
hands  that  hung  far  out  of  the  shrunken 
sleeves,  the  yellowed  cadaverous  visage — 
gave  him  the  look  of  having  lain  out  in  the 
weather.  He  began  to  speak,  and  the  tones 
159 


Windy  Creek 

of  his  voice  were  husky,  further  deepening 
the  impression.     Salvation  was  his  topic. 

He  was  going  to  speak  to  the  people  in 
the  simple  words  of  the  Gospel.  Lord 
help  them  to  speak  and  to  hear  nothing  but 
the  simple  Gospel!  There  was  lots  of 
preaching  that  hadn't  nothing  about  salva- 
tion in  it ;  there  was  a  great  deal  of  sending 
people  to  hell  by  an  easy  gospel ;  there  was 
lots  of  professors  of  religion,  even  some 
that  stood  behind  the  sacred  desk,  that 
talked  and  smoked  and  spit  like  sinners, 
and  went  to  hell  like  sinners.  All  them 
that  professed  religion  hadn't  got  it.  If 
they'd  got  religion  it  could  be  told  in 
them  by  their  lives,  and  by  their  conversa- 
tion. "  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them."  Let  them  ask  a  man  if  he'd  got 
salvation,  like  he  done  once,  and  let  them 
get  for  an  answer,  like  he  done,  "  You  bet !" 
They  could  be  mighty  sure  that  man  didn't 
know  the  first  thing  about  salvation.  Lord 
deliver  these  young  friends  from  turning 
the  grace  of  God  into  lasciviousness !  He 
frowned  around  upon  the  youthful  portion 
of  his  audience,  who,  without  respect  for 
i6o 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

the  preacher's  presence,  saw  fit  to  be  enter- 
tained rather  than  convicted  by  the  warn- 
ings thrown  out.  Once  launched  into  ex- 
hortation, he  ceased  to  be  irresolute;  his 
voice  had  been  steadily  rising,  and  already 
his  tones  were  louder  than  the  size  of  the 
auditorium  demanded.  Ah,  if  those  young 
friends  had  religion,  that  would  learn  them 
how  to  laugh!  There  was  two  kinds  of 
laughing — laughing  when  you'd  got  relig- 
ion and  laughing  when  you  hadn't  got  it. 
Their  kind  of  laughing  hadn't  got  the  ring 
of  religion  to  it — the  way  they  was  laughing 
was  the  way  of  the  devil.  If  those  young 
friends  of  his  had  got  salvation  they'd  be 
laughing  the  other  way,  because  they'd  be  so 
happy  they  couldn't  help  theirselves.  Ah! 
salvation  was  a  sweet  comfort  and  consola- 
tion in  this  hard  life !  His  Christian  father 
and  mother  had  salvation,  especially  his 
mother.  When  they'd  got  it,  they  wouldn't 
have  no  room  in  their  heart  for  noth- 
ing else ;  it  filled  them  full,  bless  the  Lord  I 
From  the  minute  he  was  converted — ah — 
he  hadn't  cared  for  the  things  of  this  world ! 
He'd  been  intent  on  the  Father's  business ! 
i6i 


Windy  Creek 

He  cared  more  for  saving  souls  than  he  did 
for  worldly  prosperity — ah!  He  hadn't 
had  none  of  his  loved  ones  to  weight  him 
down,  neither.  His  wife  was  of  his  way  of 
thinking,  bless  the  Lord!  And  his  little 
ones  was  of  his  way  of  thinking ! 

Mrs.  Stamper,  in  the  Amen  Corner,  was 
visibly  moved. 

The  way  to  Heaven  wasn't  an  easy  way. 
No,  he  would  warn  his  beloved,  the  way  to 
Heaven  was  strait  and  narrow,  like  a 
barbed-wire  fence.  But  the  Lord's  way 
was  their  way,  and  the  Lord's  work  was 
their  work,  and  they  was  all  happy  in  it. 
Blessed  be  His  holy  name  forever! 

Fervent  laughter  and  amens  swept  the 
room.  From  the  depths  of  a  black  calico 
sun-bonnet  in  the  Amen  Corner  there  was 
fired  at  regular  intervals  the  sonorous 
phrase.  Glory  be  to  God!  The  preacher's 
voice  had  deepened  into  a  steady  roar;  he 
gesticulated  with  his  long  arms. 

When  they  saw  a  young  lady  going  with 

one  young  man — ah — more  than  with  the 

others  (tittering  from  the  young  people), 

they  knew  very  well  that,  though  she  hadn't 

162 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

said  nothing,  her  heart  had  singled  out  that 
young  man  from  all  the  others,  and  that  he 
was  more  to  her  than  all  the  world  besides 
— ah.  So  it  was  with  religion,  when  they'd 
got  it.  Religion  ought  to  have  their  best 
love  and  their  best  thoughts,  and  their  best 
work — ah!  Oh!  if  the  converted  only 
showed  the  same  spirit  about  their  Father's 
business — ah — that  they  showed  to  those 
they  gave  their  love  to  on  earth ! 

When  he  was  looking  for  a  wife — ^ah — he 
used  to  sit  in  church  and  watch  the  one  he 
loved — ah  (more  tittering  from  the  young 
people) — and  many  a  time  he  saw  her  look 
across  the  aisles  at  some  other  young  man. 
There  was  such  a  thing  as  spiritual  coquet- 
ting— ah!  Oh!  How  many  were  coquet- 
ting with  the  world  to-day^  Men  and 
women  loved  darkness  rather  than  light. 
Oh!  How  many  were  flirting  with  the 
dark!  What  would  they  do  when  the 
world  gave  them  the  go-by?  Those  flirts 
and  coquettes,  where  would  they  go  in  the 
next  life  ?  There  was  a  place  prepared  for 
such  as  them ;  a  lake  of  fire  and  brimstone 
for  them  to  drop  into  like  millers.  Where 
163 


Windy  Creek 

would  their  home  be  in  that  next  life? 
Where  their  ^jorm  dieth  not,  and  the  fire  is  not 
quenched. 

Deep  groans  issuing  from  the  Amen  Cor- 
ner were  echoed  from  different  parts  of  the 
room.  The  preacher,  bellowing  and  stamp- 
ing, continued  his  portrayal  of  the  divine 
economy  of  the  lower  regions,  with  all  his 
might,  striving  to  thrill  the  latent  emotions 
of  the  unconverted,  and  thus  bring  them  to 
conviction.  The  young  people  were  awed 
into  temporary  gravity;  they  exchanged 
glances  and  smiles  to  assure  one  another  of 
their  unshaken  scepticism.  Mr.  Crimp, 
alone  unmoved,  smiled  to  himself  in  a  supe- 
rior way.  The  vibrations  shook  from  its 
insecure  fastening  a  raised  window  sash ;  it 
fell  with  a  bang.  Two  or  three  of  the 
younger  children  lifted  their  voices  into  a 
wail,  terrified  as  much  by  the  expression  of 
deep  melancholy  settling  upon  the  counte- 
nances of  their  parents  as  by  the  prolonged 
uproar. 

The  preacher  paused  in  his  elocutionary 
labors,  wiped  his  eyes,  and  began  again,  in 
tones  spent  by  strenuous  exertion. 
164 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

"  I  preach  more  than  salvation — ah !  I 
preach  sanctification !  It's  a  stumbling- 
block  to  fools — ah — the  doctrine  of  sancti- 
fication, but,  bless  the  Lord!  our  eyes  are 
opened  to  it  till  we  can  see  it  as  plain  as  day. 

"  What  does  the  good  Book  say  ?  '  Our 
old  man  is  crucified  with  Him  (Christ)  that 
the  body  of  sin  might  be  destroyed,  that 
henceforth  we  should  not  serve  sin.  For 
he  that  is  dead  is  free  from  sin.'  So  you 
see  that  us  living  brethren  and  sisters  can 
be  mighty  sure,  if  we  live  right,  that  we're 
dead  to  sin  and  free  from  sin. 

"  What  is  sanctification  ?"  shouted  the 
preacher.  "  Is  it  to  be  saved — ah  ?  Is  it 
to  get  to  Heaven — ah?  Bless  the  Lord, 
it's  more  than  to  get  salvation,  ha,  ha !  It's 
more  than  to  get  to  Heaven!  It's  to  live 
without  sin — ah!  It's  to  be  holy — ah! 
Holy  like  the  angels  in  Heaven,  that  can't 
be  let  to  sin  as  long  as  they're  in  the  grace 
of  the  Lord ! 

" '  Go  and  sin  no  more,'  says  the  good 
Book. 

" '  Being  made  free  from  sin,  ye  become 
the  servants  of  righteousness.' 
165 


Windy  Creek 

"  *  Henceforth  ye  shall  not  serve  sin.' 
"'Let  no  sin  therefore  remain  in  your 
mortal  bodies/ 

" '  If  thou  wilt  be  perfect/  says  Christ  to 
the  rich  young  man.  The  Lord  knew  that 
young  man  could  be  perfect,  and  He  knows 
that  we  can  be  perfect,  too,  my  beloved. 
There's  no  excuse  for  us  if  we  ain't.  We 
mustn't  stop  at  being  good:  that  ain't 
enough;  we  must  aim  higher;  we  must 
become  holy.  O,  brethren — ah!  O,  sis- 
ters— ah!  seek  the  Lord  this  day,  and  give 
Him  your  unsanctified  hearts  to  cleanse 
from  all  sin  and  all  evil  and  all  unrighteous- 
ness— ah!  Cast  off  the  shackles  of  your 
sin,  and  come  and  sit  on  the  right  hand  of 
the  sacred  desk,  and  swell  our  circle  here! 
Come  and  join  these  brethren  and  these  sis- 
ters !  We  claim  holiness !  And  we've  got 
it,  too ;  ha,  ha !  We  live  without  sin !  We 
haven't  got  no  anger  and  no  bad  passions 
in  our  hearts!  We  haven't  got  no  evil 
thoughts!  No  vain  imaginations !  Praise 
the  Lord!  Come  on!  There's  plenty  of 
room  for  all — we'll  find  chairs  for  every- 
body! Our  circle'll  stretch  clean  around 
i66 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

the  room,  and  when  everybody's  in  it,  there 
won't  be  none  to  laugh  us  to  scorn  and  cast 
slurs  on  us  for  setting  up  to  be  sanctified ! 
We'll  all  be  sanctified !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Praise 
His  holy  name !  Blessed  be  His  holy  name 
forever !" 

The  sermon  ended  in  a  triumphal  flourish 
of  amens. 

The  evangelist  fell  on  his  knees.  All  the 
members  of  his  flock  dropped  on  theirs, 
while  those  of  the  other  fold  sat  upright  in 
their  seats.  A  strangely  grotesque  figure 
was  the  preacher's — great  feet  pointing  to- 
ward the  black-board;  huge,  bony  hands 
outstretched ;  the  prodigious  roaring  of  his 
prayer  accented  by  the  measured  smiting  of 
his  palms,  held  high  in  air. 

A  hymn  had  scarcely  been  sung  ere  one 
after  another  of  the  Free  Methodists  quick- 
ly rose,  each  eager  to  descant  upon  the  mar- 
vellous topic  of  sanctification ;  and  a  testi- 
monial meeting  was  at  once  put  into  full 
swing. 

The  Campbellite  preacher  awaited  his 
turn,  resignedly.  He  attempted  to  assume 
a  look  of  infinite  compassion,  but  this, 
167 


Windy  Creek 

blending  with  the  sneer  already  settled  up- 
on his  features,  produced  an  odd  mixture  of 
expressions. 

Strongly  excited,  with  rapid  and  incohe- 
rent speech,  Mrs.  Flieger  led  the  testimo- 
nies. 

"  My  old  man  is  dead !  I'm  free !  Oh, 
I'm  so  happy!  Thank  the  Lord!  Glory 
be  to  God !"  (The  surprising  intelHgence  of 
Mrs.  Flieger's  widowhood  provoked  a 
storm  of  smothered  laughter  from  the  of- 
fenders on  the  benches.)  "  I'm  saved ! 
Glory  to  God !  I  live  without  sin !  I'm  so 
glad  that  I've  been  shown  the  way !  Pray 
for  me,  everybody,  so's  I  kin  be  kep'  in  the 
right  way!  I  want  your  prayers!  I  jest 
wish't  I  could  see  somebody  here  gittin'  up 
to  give  their  heart  to  the  Lord  and  be 
saved !  Why  can't  the  people  care  fur  their 
souls?  They're  so  dead  in  sin,  't  seems 
like.  Git  saved!  Why  don't  you  git  saved? 
Why  don't  you  git  shed  of  your  old  man? 
So  many  jest  pretend  to  be  saved  an'  then 
go  on  sinnin'.  If  you  go  on  sinnin'  you 
ain't  saved!  The  devil's  got  you  fur  his 
own !  The  devil  can't  git  no  good  fight  out 
i68 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

of  me,  thank  the  Lord!  Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Praise  His  holy  name  forever  I" 

"  The  Lord  tells  me  I  must  speak  to  you 
about  the  power  of  prayer,''  gasped  Mrs. 
Stamper,  tottering  to  her  feet.  She  was  a 
woman  of  a  singularly  death-like  appear- 
ance. The  severity  of  the  black  sailor  hat 
worn  by  most  of  the  women  of  the  sect,  and 
the  hair  strained  backward  from  its  roots, 
brought  out  every  line  in  the  drawn,  sallow 
face. 

"  I  dar'sn't  keep  my  mouth  shut  when 
the  Lord  tells  me  to  speak  for  Him.  Oh !  I 
don't  know  what  the  people  do  that  don't 
have  the  sweet  consolation  of  prayer.  The 
Lord  works  miracles  every  day  in  answer 
to  prayer.  The  Lord  tells  me  I  must  testify 
to  you  what  He  done  yesterday  in  our  corn- 
field. Some  cattle  broke  down  the  fence 
and  got  in.  My  husband  was  off  organiz- 
ing Sunday-schools,  thank  the  Lord,  and 
Maria  had  gone  to  borrow  some  corn-meal, 
and  the  little  ones  was  at  school.  I  was 
too  poorly  to  run  the  cattle  out  myself,  so 
I  just  kneeled  down  in  the  door  and  prayed. 
I  hadn't  prayed  more  than  half  an  hour 
169 


Windy  Creek 

when  the  cattle  went  off  of  themselves. 
They  didn't  know  the  Lord  was  leading 
them,  but  I  knew  it.  Oh,  what  a  power 
there  is  in  prayer!  Why  don't  everybody 
quit  troubling  themselves  about  the  things 
of  this  life?  When  their  crops  fail,  they 
curse  and  swear.  Why  don't  they  get  down 
on  their  knees?  When  any  of  the  family 
is  sick,  they  send  for  the  doctor ;  why  don't 
they  get  down  on  their  knees?  I  knew  a 
woman  once  that  had  a  sick  child  and  sent 
for  the  doctor,  after  she'd  got  tired  of  pray- 
ing for  it,  and  the  sick  child  was  poisoned 
worse  than  ever  with  swallowing  the  medi- 
cines the  doctor  give  him,  and  he  died. 
That  woman  turned  her  back  on  the  Lord 
when  she  sent  for  the  doctor,  and  the  Lord 
punished  her.  The  Lord  has  healed  more 
than  the  doctor  has!  The  Lord  tells  us 
it's  a  sin  to  call  in  the  doctor,  just  like  it's 
a  sin  to  go  to  the  dance.  The  Lord  tells 
us  to  get  down  on  our  knees  and  pray.  Oh ! 
what  a  power  there  is  in  prayer !  Bless  the 
Lord!" 

Mr.  Flieger  sprang  up  with  shining  face. 

"  I  tell  you  it  feels  good  to  git  reel  good 
170 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

and  happy !  You  don't  know  how  good  it 
feels  till  you  try  it!  One  old  lady  that  I 
use'  to  be  acquainted  with  got  so  happy  in 
meetin'  that  she  told  how  she'd  be  perfectly 
satisfied  if  they'd  let  her  set  and  look  at 
Jesus  fur  one  thousand  years,  when  she  got 
to  Heaven.  That's  what  I  call  reel  salva- 
tion, when  you  feel  that  way."  (Mr.  Flie- 
ger  wiped  his  eyes  and  gazed  with  tender 
emotion  into  the  faces  directed  toward 
him.)  "  It  makes  me  feel  to-day  Hke  Jesus 
done,  when  he  went  over  them  mountains  " 
(he  made  a  sweeping  gesture  with  both 
arms),  "  and  looked  down  into  Jerusalem. 
He  wanted  to  save  the  people.  I  want  to 
save  them.  I  feel  like  I  want  to  gether 
them  under  my  wings  "  (another  swooo) 
"  like  a  hen  does  her  chickens !  But  they 
would  not  be  gethered  then,  and  they  will 
not  be  gethered  now.  They  was  just  like 
the  people  is  now — stubborn  and  worldly. 
Oh!  I  want  to  show  sinners  the  rowt  to 
Heaven!  It's  my  work,  I'm  ready,  bless 
the  Lord!  I'm  just  waitin'  fur  the  Lord 
to  tell  me  what  He  wants  me  to  do,  and  I'm 
willin'  to  do  it,  and  I'm  willin'  to  say  what- 
171 


Windy  Creek 

ever  the  Lord  puts  in  my  mouth  to  say  to 
His  glory — praise  be  to  His  holy  name !  I 
want  to  save  souls!  I  just  feel  when  the 
spirit's  on  me,  like  it  is  now,  that  I  love 
every  soul  God  ever  made !  I  love  every- 
body here !     Bless  the  Lord !     Ha,  ha,  ha  !'* 

Mr.  Flieger  closed  with  a  prayer ;  he  in- 
voked blessings  on  the  Sunday-school,  for 
he  was  its  founder  and  superintendent. 

"  The  way  to  tell  yer  name's  writ  in 
Heaven,"  droned  old  man  Wilkins,  "  is  to 
be  persecuted  on  this  yearth,  and  talked 
about.  When  I  was  converted  I  come 
home,  an'  my  first  wife,  she  says  to  me, 
says  she,  '  They've  ben  a-sayin'  things 
about  ye,  an'  they've  ben  a-callin'  ye  hard 
names,'  says  she.  At  that  I  jest  jumped 
up  an'  down  an'  hollered  fur  joy.  'An' 
what's  got  the  matter  with  ye  now?'  says 
my  first  wife,  says  she.  An'  I  says,  says  I : 
'  I've  jest  found  out  my  name's  writ  in 
Heaven !  I  know  it  now !  Glory,  hallelu- 
jah ! '  says  I." 

Rose  Rooney  bundled  her  child  into  the 
lap  of  the  woman  next  her  and  faced  the 
audience,  with  flushed  and  sparkling  face. 
172 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

"  The  devil's  alius  a-layin'  in  wait  fur  us 
poor  humans.  He  don't  want  us  to  git 
salvation  nor  holiness  neither.  He's  awful 
smart,  the  devil  is!  He  knows  the  weak 
points  in  a  body's  make-up!  But  we'd 
ought  to  be  smarter'n  the  devil.  He's 
alius  a-layin'  in  wait  fur  me  when  I'm 
gassin',  'cause  he  knows  it's  a  heap  easier 
fur  me  to  lie  than  to  tell  the  truth.  He  use' 
to  lay  in  wait  fur  Jimmy,  too ;  but  he  don't 
git  half  a  chanc't  now.  Jimmy's  a  right 
good  boy — he  use'  to  be  a  Hmb."  (Jimmy, 
on  a  front  seat,  pricked  up  his  ears.)  "  He 
don't  swear,  Jimmy  don't;  an'  he  don't 
chaw  tobacco,  like  he  use'  to.  I  broke  him, 
I  did.  He  don't  say  bad  words  now,  'cept 
jist  onc't  in  a  great  while.  His  pa  learned 
him.  But  I  won't  have  it,  not  in  my  house ! 
Oh,  Jimmy's  a  right  good  boy.  It's  lots 
easier  to  row  down  stream  than  to  row  up 
— it's  lots  easier  to  act  bad  than  to  act  good. 
The  Bible  says  so.  It's  human  nature. 
I'm  learnin'  every  day  how  to  live  more 
holy.  Oh!  we  must  git  sanctification  an' 
holiness — we  can't  see  the  Lord  unless  we 
have  holiness — the  Bible  says  so!  I  love 
173 


Windy  Creek 

everybody.  I  don't  love  their  sins ;  I  love 
their  souls!  An'  I  love  to  git  good  an' 
happy!  I  love  a  religion  that'll  let  you 
shout  when  you  feel  like  you  can't  hold  in ! 
I  ain't  a  bit  afraid  to  shout !  Oh,  the  jump- 
in'  an'  kickin'  religion's  the  religion  fur 
me!" 

Rose  Rooney's  little  Mark,  ill-pleased 
with  his  sudden  plunge  into  a  stranger's 
lap,  had  cried  at  the  change,  and  still  fretted 
on  being  returned  to  his  mother.  With 
characteristic  decision.  Rose  Rooney  on  the 
spot  treated  her  audience  to  an  exhibition 
of  parental  discipHne;  holding  the  child 
out  at  arms'  length,  she  administered  a  se- 
ries of  smart  shakes,  at  each  demanding, 
through  closed  teeth,  "  Quit  it !  Quit  it ! 
Quit  it!" 

The  wearer  of  the  black  calico  sun-bon- 
net now  arose  in  the  Amen  Corner ;  she  was 
tall  and  angular,  with  aquiline  features; 
and  with  the  intolerance  of  the  old  for  giddy 
youth,  she  bent  a  censorious  gaze  upon  the 
young  people,  and  waited  for  the  tumult  of 
their  laughter  to  subside.  Stretching  forth 
her  arm,  she  measured  with  her  withered 
174 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

hand  the  height  of  a  pretty  brown  bonnet, 
trimmed  with  curling  tips  of  the  same 
shade.  This  article  of  head-dress  was  worn 
by  Ruth  Wood's  mother,  a  lady  of  mild  and 
inoffensive  personality. 

"  There's  many  a  hat  and  there's  many 
a  bunnit,"  pronounced  the  old  lady,  "  that's 
going  to  be  too  high  to  get  in  at  the  gate 
of  Heaven  with.  High  hats  and  bunnits  is 
a  vanity  and  a  sin,  before  the  eyes  of  the 
Lord.  The  Lord  shall  take  away  their 
*  mincing  feet,'  and  their  *  twinkling  feet,' 
and  their  '  gold  rings,'  and  their  '  ear-rings,' 
and  their  *  mantles,'  and  their  '  wimples,' 
and  their  '  bunnits,'  and  their  '  veils ' ;  and 
the  Lord  shall  give  bald  heads  to  them  that 
does  up  their  hair  in  '  crisping  pins.'  I  was 
down  to  Denver  last  month  to  visit  my  sick 
sister.  Before  I  left  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  the  city  of  Denver  was  the  city  of  the 
wicked,  where  Satan  hath  his  rule.  '  All 
is  vanity,  vanity  of  vanities.'  The  streets 
is  given  over  to  fine  dressing,  and  the 
churches  has  more  of  finery  in  them  than 
the  streets  has.  I  used  to  stand  on  the 
steps  of  the  church  where  I  worshipped  at 
I7S 


Windy  Creek 

and  watch  the  women  come  out  with  bright- 
colored  flowers  and  feathers  on  their  hats, 
and  young  men  with  button-hole  bou- 
quets, that  is  going  to  shut  them  out  of 
Heaven. 

"  The  devil  has  got  other  ways  besides 
fine  apparel  to  lead  the  young  astray,  and 
sometimes  the  old,  too."  (Mr.  Crimp  now 
received  in  his  turn  a  scathing  glance  from 
the  depths  of  the  black  bonnet.)  "  The 
devil  goes  around  to  dances  and  candy- 
pullings,  and  picnics,  and  Fourth  of  July 
celebrations  in  petticular,  seeking  who  he 
may  devour.  The  Lord  was  mighty  scan- 
dalized at  the  doings  of  some  folks  to  the 
school-house,  last  Fourth.  The  devil  was 
let  loose  that  day ;  he  run  in  the  sack-race, 
and  he  dumb  the  greased  pole,  and  he 
ketched  the  greased  pig."  (Curly  O'Coole, 
the  winner  in  the  contest  last  mentioned, 
burst  into  a  short  laugh,  and  all  the  young 
people  giggled.)  "  He  jined  in  the  speech- 
making,  and  he  helped  serve  the  refresh- 
ments. There  wasn't  a  thing  the  devil 
didn't  have  a  hand  in  that  day.  He  was 
everywhere,  and  the  Lord  wasn't  nowhere. 
176 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

All  our  doings  that  ain't  done  for  the  glory 
of  the  Lord  is  done  for  the  glory  of  the 
devil.  I'm  a  prayin'  and  all  the  brethren 
and  sisters  is  a-prayin'  for  them  folks  that 
is  so  set  on  Fourth  of  July  celebrations — 
and  Mr.  Crimp  over  there  is  the  most  set 
of  them  all — to  have  their  spiritual  eyes 
opened  for  them  to  see  their  sin  afore  next 
Fourth,  so's  they  can  spend  the  day  in  fast- 
ing and  prayer,  as  is  pleasing  to  the  Lord. 
I'm  a-prayin'  and  a-wrastlin'  that  they'll  all 
git  salvation  and  all  be  sanctified  afore  that 
day.  There's  nothing  that  gives  real  joy  to 
the  heart  but  holiness.  Nobody  can't  be 
joyous  but  them  that's  sanctified  and  livin' 
free  from  sin." 

After  expatiating  more  fully  upon  the 
pleasures  of  holiness,  the  speaker  concluded, 
in  an  imposing  manner :  "  I  stand  afore 
you  a  monument  of  sanctification.  It's  for 
all  of  us,  and  it's  for  you,  too,  Mr.  Crimp." 
She  then  sat  down  and  sanctimoniously 
folded  her  hands.  And  the  gentleman  thus 
publicly  addressed  reddened,  and  his  nos- 
trils distended  with  scorn. 

Old  man  Wilkins  spoke  a  second  time. 
177 


Windy  Creek 

He  thrust  his  quid  into  a  recess  of  his 
mouth :  "  There  was  a  young  lady  of  my 
acquaintance  thet  hed  a  young  man  to  fall 
in  love  with  her  and  marry  her.  Now,  how 
did  it  come  about  that  the  young  man  fell  in 
love  with  her?  'Cause  she  was  plain  and 
neat.  That's  what  we  air,  my  brethren, 
plain  and  neat,  and  if  we  keep  so  the  Lord 
will  fall  in  love  with  us/'  (Groans  and 
amens..  A  loud,  satisfied  amen  from  Mrs. 
Stamper,  dingy  and  unkempt  in  her  black 
habiliments.)  "  Now,  I  don't  see  why  it 
hed  oughter  be  hard  fur  folks  to  give  up 
thur  wearin'  apparel  when  it  ain't  suitable 
fur  the  faith.  These  fine  clothes  and  gold 
rings  and  jooelry,  they  air  the  devil's  own. 
They  air  jest  one  of  the  baits  that  the  devil 
hes  on  his  fishin'  hook  fur  yankin'  people 
into  his  kingdom  with.  When  I  wuz  still 
of  the  world's  way  of  thinkin'  I  hed  a  pair 
of  patent-leather  boots  thet  I  wuz  mighty 
fond  of.  And  I  hed  a  tall  hat,  too — one  of 
these  hyur  stove-pipes.  I  wuz  young  then, 
and  the  young  will  be  fools,  ye  know.  But 
when  I  wuz  converted  I  didn't  hev  two 
minds  about  my  dooty.  I  knowed  what  I 
178 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

hed  oughter  do.  I  kicked  off  them  patent- 
leathers,  and  I  knocked  that  thur  shiny  hat 
into  a  corner.  I  never  wore  'em  agin. 
Give  the  devil  his  doo,  says  I." 

A  raw-boned  young  Welshman  rose  to 
observe :  "  We're  so  big-feeling  now-a- 
days  that  we  want  horthodox  sermons :  but 
horthodoxy  won't  save  hus." 

A  fat  young  man  in  the  Amen  Corner, 
Job  Postlethwaite  by  name,  but  nick-named 
*'  Jumbo,"  mumbled  into  his  red  bandanna 
handkerchief  some  such  phrases  as  "  these 
infidikes,"  and  "  going  straight  to  predic- 
tion." 

A  solo  concluded  the  testimonial  service. 
This  hymn,  rendered  by  a  holy  young  man, 
who  remained  seated,  clutching  the  corners 
of  his  book  in  a  tight  grip,  and  ducking  his 
head  as  he  sang,  set  forth  the  journey  by 
rail  to  Zion,  and  depicted  the  passenger 
train  stopping  at  each  station  to  throw  off 
bangs,  curly  hair,  gold  rings,  or  other  vani- 
ties that  might  encumber  its  speed. 

Two  long  hours  had  worn  themselves 
away  before  Mr.  Crimp  obtained  a  hearing. 
An  ill-humored  sneer  wreathed  his  features, 
179 


Windy  Creek 

but  he  adopted  his  customary  tone  of  rail- 
lery. 

"  You  c'n  get  up  and  leave,"  said  he. 
"  You  c'n  adjourn  if  you  want  to.  It  don't 
make  the  slightest  difference  to  me.  But  I 
propose  to  preach  in  this  here  school-house 
to-day,  if  I  ain't  got  but  two  people  to 
preach  to.  IVe  been  giving  'way  all  sum- 
mer. Now  I  propose  to  assert  my  rights 
and  preach  every  other  Sunday."  (At  their 
leader's  show  of  spirit  the  young  people  ex- 
changed approving  glances,  and  Mr.  Post 
shook  his  red  head  theateningly  at  Mr.  Flie- 
ger.)  "  There's  been  some  pretty  plain  talk 
here  this  morning.  Some  sects  don't  stop 
at  nothing  when  they've  got  a  spite  against 
you.  They  blat  it  right  in  your  face. 
There's  a  Christian  spirit  for  you!  Never 
mind :  '  An  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for 
a  tooth.'  That's  Bible  doctrine.  I'll  give 
them  as  good  as  they  gave,  now  I've  got 
possession  of  the  '  sacred  desk,'  as  the  rev- 
erend brother  calls  it.  I  take  the  liberty  of 
informing  the  reverend  brother  that  this 
here  sacred  desk's  mine  for  five  days  out  of 
every  week,  when  I'm  learnin'  the  scholars 
1 80 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

to  read  and  write,  and  I  feel  quite  at  home 
behind  it.     IVe  got  a  corner  on  this  desk. 

"  I  don't  quarrel  with  your  doctrines,  my 
friends.  They're  all  right  in  their  place; 
they're  harmless ;  it  takes  all  kinds  of  people 
to  make  a  world,  and  it  takes  all  kinds  of 
creeds  to  make  a  rehgion.  But  you  Free 
Methodists  had  ought  to  look  out  and  not 
let  yourselves  get  too  fresh,  roasting  us 
Christians.  Some  of  you  folks  may  get  a 
taste  of  roasting,  yourselves,  in  the  next 
life.  I  understand  its  rather  warm,  shovel- 
ing coal,  down  there." 

A  violent  snort  from  Mr.  Flieger  warned 
the  orator  to  desist  from  this  theme. 

"  You  Free  Methodists  claim  to  be  holy," 
said  Mr.  Crimp,  banteringly.  "  Now,  you'd 
ought  to  be  careful,  you  know,  and  mind 
your  P's  and  Q's.  There's  goin'  to  be  a  pret- 
ty sharp  look-out  for  any  stray  sins  of  yours 
layin'  loose  around  here.  I  guess  we  know 
a  sin  when  we  see  it,  if  we  do  dress  a  little 
better'n  our  friends  in  black,  and  wear  rib- 
bons on  our  hats  and  climb  greased  poles, 
and  serve  refreshments  along  with  some- 
body who  it  ain't  polite  to  mention.  I'm 
i8i 


Windy  Creek 

not  afraid  of  the  Lord's  takin'  a  mental  in- 
ventory of  the  duds  I've  got  on.  I  guess 
the  Lord  has  got  other  business  on  hand 
besides  snatching  the  girls  bald-headed  for 
puttin'  up  their  hair  on  curl-papers.  So 
the  Old  Harry  was  associating  with  our 
crowd  last  Fourth,  was  he?  We  wasn't 
aware  of  the  fact,  now,  was  we  ?"  facetiously 
inquired  Mr.  Crimp,  as  he  deliberately 
winked  in  the  direction  of  his  young  disci- 
ples. "  I  guess  we're  not  quite  so  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  gentleman's  personal  ap- 
pearance as  same  folks  seem  to  be;  since 
we  weren't  aware  of  his  presence,  until  told 
of  it.  Some  folks  not  only  knows  him  by 
sight,  but  also  has  a  speaking  acquaintance 
with  him,  it  seems.  But  I  am  surprised  " 
(with  gravity)  "  that  anybody  should  have 
mistook  my  young  friend  here,  Mr.  Curly 
O'Coole,  for  the  gentleman  from  the  lower 
regions.  There  don't  seem  to  be  much  re- 
semblance between  the  two,  so  far  as  I  c'n 
see." 

The   young   people   were   by   this   time 
so  convulsed  with  laughter  that  the  speak- 
er was  obliged  to  pause  some  moments. 
182 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

When  the  room  was  quiet  once  more,  Mr. 
Crimp  went  on,  greatly  mollified : 

"  I  promised  myself  to  give  you  a  treat, 
my  good  people,  in  the  shape  of  a  mission- 
ary lady  from  India — a  returned  missionary, 
you  know.  I  hoped  to  give  you  a  pleasant 
surprise,  for  I  know  you'd  all  like  to  see  a 
foreign  missionary  and  hear  them  speak. 
She  promised  to  come  out  here  and  speak 
at  the  school-house  in  the  morning,  and  at 
Arrowhead  in  the  evening;  that  was  the 
arrangement.  But  yesterday  when  I  went 
to  the  house  where  she's  stopping  at,  to  see 
about  the  appointment,  I  found  her  pros- 
trated, and  I  see  it  was  impossible  to  think 
of  bringing  her  out  here.  This  lady  is  in 
very  delicate  health;  she  has  neuralgia  of 
the  stomach,  and  you  know  anybody  with 
that  complaint  ain't  liable  to  enjoy  very 
good  health.  I'm  sorry  for  you,  for  I  know 
you're  disappointed  at  not  seein'  her.  I  did 
all  I  could — borrowed  a  buggy  to  bring  her 
out  in,  and  had  my  trip  to  the  Springs  and 
back  for  nothing.  However  "  (smirking), 
"  I  wasn't  altogether  disappointed,  for  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  bringin'  out  a  very  nice 
183 


Windy  Creek 

young  lady  along  in  the  buggy  with  me. 
She  was  my  niece ;  but  I  must  say  she  was 
a  very  pretty  young  lady,  if  she  was  a  rela- 
tion of  mine." 

Toward  the  close  of  a  lengthy  address, 
delivered  in  much  the  same  strain,  Mr. 
Crimp  said  : 

"  I  have  made  mistakes  in  my  life,  like 
other  men,  and  I  am  sometimes  sorrowful 
on  account  of  the  mistakes  of  my  life.  But 
I  am  happy  and  glad  to  be  living.  Life  is 
full  of  work  to  do.  Things  don't  stand 
still  these  days — the  world's  humming! 
And  I  thank  God  every  day  of  my  life  that 
I'm  here  to  help  make  it  hum.  I  am  what 
they  call  of  a  sanguine  temperament. 
You've  noticed,  haven't  you,  when  the  sun 
IS  shining,  how  the  furthest  side  of  the 
clouds  is  always  the  brightest?  Well,  it  is 
my  way  to  be  on  the  look-out  for  the  silver- 
sheen  ;  in  other  words,  to  look  on  the  bright 
side  of  life.  But  I  never  get  excited.  I 
pride  myself  on  bein'  superior  to  the  sway 
of  emotion.  I  guess  there  is  some  Spartan 
blood  flows  in  my  veins.  I  am  different* 
from  most  people,  and  I  take  things  dif- 
184 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

ferent.  Some  call  me  cold  and  unsympa- 
thetic, but  I  am  not  that.  I  am  of  a  serene 
temperament.  Call  things  by  their  right 
names,  you  know.  Some  say  this  and  some 
say  that.  Folks  seem  to  be  awful  busy  with 
my  name,  now-a-days.  Some  say  I  haven't 
got  any  friends.  My  good  people,  that  just 
shows  how  much  you  know  about  it.  Why, 
IVe  only  got  to  go  to  the  Springs  to  meet 
hosts  of  'em.  I  refer  you  to  the  Springs 
for  references.  There  ain't  a  man  in  that 
town  is  better  known  than  I  am.  There 
ain't  a  name  in  Colorado  Springs  to-day  is 
more  highly  respected  than  the  name  of 
Crimp.  It's  good  to  blow  your  own  horn, 
sometimes  "  (glancing  defiantly  around  at 
his  Free  Methodist  hearers).  "There  dn't 
nobody  else  will  blow  it  for  you.  If  you  want 
to  know  what  it  means  to  have  your  repu- 
tation up,  just  step  into  a  bank  some  day. 
My  mere  name  is  good  for  five  hundred 
dollars  on  a  note  at  any  bank  in  the  city. 
Yes,  some  people  are  out  with  me  because 
there  ain't  nothing  of  the  Free  Methodist 
in  me ;  I'm  too  serene.  Now,  I  never  could 
make  a  good  Free  Methodist.  I  can't  shout 
i8S 


Windy  Creek 

and  get  happy  like  you  folks  call  it,  when 
you  laugh  at  things  that  ain't  funny.  I 
consider  this  emotional  religion  ain't  got 
much  more  to  it  than  the  froth  on  the  top 
of  a  milk-tmcket — that's  the  way  I  look  at 
it.  I  don't  tie  to  emotional  religion,  my- 
self. My  religion  lies  deep — there  ain't  no 
froth  to  it.  Still  waters  run  deep,  you 
know.  I  fancy  ex- Governor  Waite  has  got 
a  temperament  something  like  mine.  I'm 
an  admirer  of  that  man.  I've  watched  his 
career  down  there  in  Denver.  There's  a 
man  that  ain't  appreciated  like  he'd  ought 
to  be.  He's  got  some  sand  to  his  make-up ; 
he's  level-headed;  he's  hopeful;  he's  got  a 
vein  of  humor  of  his  own;  he's  something 
of  a  philosopher.  Yes,  I  fancy  Waite  and 
I  would  make  a  pretty  good  team. 

"  I  am  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,"  bom- 
bastically announced  Mr.  Crimp.  "  I  am 
a  man  of  brains  and  culture.  I  never  pre- 
pare my  sermons.  I  speak  from  inspira- 
tion. I  study  the  human  specimen  as  I  see 
it  about  me.  And  I  read.  Then  I  am 
ready  to  preach  my  sermons,  extempore, 
whenever  I'm  called  on.  I'm  never  at  a 
loss  for  a  word  and  I  never  run  out  of  ideas 
J  86 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

— my  brain  teems  with  'em ;  I  can  go  on 
ad  infinitum,  I  evolve  my  sermons  out  of 
the  people  around  me,  and  out  of  what  I 
read.  I  unroll  them,  as  it  were.  My  read- 
ing is  wide.  I  don't  see.  a  daily  paper  any 
oftener  than  the  rest  of  you  do,  but  I  keep 
up  with  most  of  the  magazines  of  the  day. 
It's  a  little  saying  of  mine  that  the  maga- 
zines has  more  meat  in  them  than  the  dai- 
lies has.  For  deep  reading,  at  present,  I'm 
dipping  into  Darwin's  '  Origin  of  Species.' 
It's  a  noble  work,  that  of  Darwin's — one  of 
the  finest  books  of  the  age.  Darwin — he's 
the  man  that  wrote  it — makes  out  that  man- 
kind is  progressing  from  one  state  to  an- 
other, and  getting  a  little  higher  up  all  the 
time.  He  says  there  wasn't  any  creation, 
and  there  wasn't  any  Adam  and  Eve,  and 
all  that.  He  says  when  man  first  started, 
he  was  a  protoplasm ;  in  other  words,  a  cell. 

"TrpwTo  " — first 
(wrote  Mr.  Crimp  on  the  black-board), 
**  ifkaajM  " — cell,  prison-cell. 

That's  the  Greek  of  it — first  prison-cell  of 

man.     Then  he  evolved  into  a  sponge,  then 

i37 


Windy  Creek 

into  a  monkey;  and  then  into  man,  noble 
man.  But  he  ain't  perfect  yet.  He's  got 
to  keep  on  evolving  till  he's  perfect,  if  it 
takes  millions  and  billions  of  years.  This 
is  a  very  different  kind  of  perfection  "  (jeer- 
ingly)  "  from  what  you  folks  that  claims 
holiness  aims  at.  No,  my  good  friends, 
this  is  the  doctrine  of  evolution.  Darwin, 
he's  the  founder  of  the  doctrine.  We  don't 
need  to  swallow  it  whole,  you  know.  We 
can  take  it  as  an  allegory,  or  as  a  parable, 
and  deduce  some  lessons  from  it.  It's  got 
some  good  sound  horse  sense  in  it,  that 
won't  do  us  any  harm.  Now,  we  people  of 
Windy  Crick,  we're  in  a  process  of  evolu- 
tion— we're  evoluting,  as  you  might  say. 
Darwin's  book  is  a  little  deep.  If  I  wasn't 
afraid  it  would  be  beyond  your  depth  I'd 
be  tempted  to  quote  you  some  extracts  from 
it.  But  you'll  grow  up  to  it  in  time ;  you'll 
evolute.  We  never  stand  still,  you  know; 
we  progress  forward,  or  we  progress  back- 
ward ;  we  prograde  or  we  retrograde.  You 
young  folks  are  prograding,  all  right.  Sorry 
I  can't  say  the  same  of  you  old  folks,  as 
well.  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  say  it,  but  some 
i88 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

of  you  old  folks  seems  to  be  evoluting  the 
wrong  way;  kind  of  a  back-sliding  evolu- 
tion, I  should  call  it.  Never  mind !  It'll  be 
all  the  same  a  hundred  years  hence.  Still  " 
(sighing),  "  I  feel  disappointed.  I  had 
hoped  better  things  of  some  of  the  older 
members  of  my  flock.  Do  you  want  to 
know  who  you  folks  reminds  me  of  ?  Why, 
Ignorance,  to  be  sure,  the  dolt  that  Chris- 
tian had  the  conversation  with  near  the  end 
of  his  journey  to  the  city  of  Zion.  The 
trouble  with  Ignorance  was,  he  had  too 
much  religion.  He  had  soaked  himself  in 
it,  and  he  had  went  mad  over  it ;  he  was  all 
puffed  up  with  it;  he  had  went  blind  from 
self-conceit  and  vain-glory ;  he  knew  it  all, 
and  Christian  couldn't  learn  him  nothing; 
he  was  one  of  your  sanctified  sort.  Igno- 
rance was,''  said  Mr.  Crimp,  feelingly. 
"  Some  of  you  folks  that's  so  sure  of  your- 
selves, claiming  holiness  and  all  that,  may 
find  yourselves  in  the  same  fix  as  Igno- 
rance, some  day,  at  the  very  gate  of  Heaven, 
feeling  in  your  pockets  for  the  certificate 
that  you  haven't  got — you  may  find  your- 
selves bundled  off  to  the  side  door  in  the 
189 


Windy  Creek 

hill,  and  dumped  down  to  that  place  you're 
all  so  fond  of  mentioning  before  polite  com- 
pany. 

*'  Speaking  of  '  Pilgrim's  Progress '  re- 
minds me  of  an  article  I  was  reading  only 
yesterday — Gail  Hamilton's  *- Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death.'  I  want  to  speak  of  that 
Valley  this  morning.  *  From  the  fulness 
of  the  mouth  the  heart  speaketh,'  you 
know.  In  this  article  that  I  was  reading, 
Mrs.  Hamilton  tells  her  experience  in  the 
Valley.  It  come  to  her  when  she  was  very 
sick.  She  found  herself  alone,  walking  in 
the  Valley,  and  she  naturally  give  herself 
up  for  dead.  But  she  come  to,  again,  and 
now  her  health  is  as  good  as  ever.  Now, 
as  a  student  of  the  Bible,  the  conclusion  that 
I  draw  from  this  story  is  this :  You  can  ex- 
perience the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death 
in  your  lifetime.  When  I  was  a  child  I  was 
learnt  that  the  Valley  come  just  before 
Death,  and  couldn't  come  at  no  other  time. 
But  I  think  different  now ;  I  think  it  comes 
to  some  in  the  midst  of  life.  Let  me  read  to 
you  that  beautiful  Sam  wrote  by  David."  (In 
a  loud  voice  the  preacher  read  the  Twenty- 
190 


Free  Methodism  versus  Campbellitism 

third  psalm.)  ''  Now,  David,  he  experi- 
enced that  Valley  in  life,  and  this  Sam 
proves  it.  If  you'll  call  to  mind  that  ser- 
mon I  preached  where  the  prophet  said  to 
David,  '  Thou  art  the  man ' !  and  pointed 
his  finger  at  him,  you'll  see  that  David 
found  himself  in  the  Valley  then  and  there. 
When  we're  in  great  trouble  in  the  midst  of 
life,  we're  standing  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow.  I  have  had  my  experience  of  that 
Valley.  I  have  underwent  great  trials  in 
my  life,  more  than  most  people  give  me 
credit  for.  I  recollect  once  in  my  life " 
(Soph  Crimp  moved  impatiently  in  his  seat 
at  this  the  fourth  repetition  of  the  story, 
and  those  nearest  him  heard  him  mutter, 
'  Oh,  shoot ! ')  "  of  standing  over  the  gra^^e 
of  one  of  my  little  girls — my  oldest  little 
girl,  in  fact.  I  realized  that  I  cared  more 
for  that  little  child  than  for  anything  else 
on  this  earth,  perhaps.  And  for  a  moment 
it  seemed  to  me  like  I  had  rather  give  up 
life  right  there ;  I  didn't  care  to  go  on  with 
my  life.  It  seemed  awful  easy  to  give  up 
and  die."  Mr.  Crimp  choked  and  paused, 
winking  hard.  But  his  simulated  agitation 
191 


Windy  Creek 

was  stared  out  of  countenance  and  he  went 
on  hurriedly.  "  That  was  my  experience 
of  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death.  I 
walked  it  from  one  end  to  the  other.  Then 
it  seemed  to  me  like  God  was  telling  me  to 
leave  that  little  grave  and  take  up  the  bur- 
dens of  life  again.  I  knew  I  had  duties  to 
perform — one  of  them  had  me  by  the  hand 
that  very  minute,  in  the  shape  of  my  boy, 
Soph.  But  I  want  to  say  this :  From  that 
time  to  this,  death  has  never  seemed  the 
same  to  me  that  it  used  to  before  the  day 
that  I  stood  beside  the  portals  of  that  little 
grave." 

The  flow  of  Mr.  Crimp's  oratory  might 
have  continued  all  day  had  not  the  restless 
stirring  of  his  audience  penetrated  even  to 
his  dense  perception,  and  reminded  him  of 
the  possible  existence  of  cramped  legs  and 
aching  backs. 

After  singing  "  God  be  with  you  till  we 
meet  again,"  a  hymn  in  which  both  congre- 
gations joined  with  a  will,  the  meeting 
broke  up  at  the  hour  of  a  quarter  past  two 
in  the  afternoon. 

192 


VII 

A  DANCE 

Revelry  in  Windy  Creek  began  at  an 
early  hour  in  the  evening,  nor  did  it 
cease  until  the  dawn.  Eight  o'clock 
found  the  Bunt  cabin  lighted  up,  the 
doors  wide  open,  a  crowd  inside.  But 
the  neighbors,  though  met  together,  were 
not  mingling  in  social  ease ;  bunches  of 
eager  girls  huddled  together,  whispering 
and  tittering,  now  and  then  rushing  out  of 
doors  to  get  drinks  of  water  or  tell  secrets. 
The  men  stood  awkwardly  apart ;  conversa- 
tion there  was  none ;  they  were  waiting  for 
the  dance  to  free  them  from  the  stiffness 
that  held  them  in  thrall. 

The  household  furniture  had  been  cast 
forth  bodily  into  the  yard,  and  around  the 
four  sides  of  the  room  planks  were  laid  from 
chair  to  chair.  The  cracks  along  the  rough 
board  floor  had  been  freshly  planed.  Two 
193 


Windy  Creek 

hand-lamps  illumined  the  room;  a  tallow 
candle  in  the  kitchen  showed  the  long  pine 
table  spread  with  pies,  boiled  ham,  cold 
buttered  soda  biscuits,  and  cakes  baked  in 
milk-pans ;  and,  in  a  dim  corner,  a  bed  with 
a  double  row  of  infants  packed  within. 

The  night  was  dark  and  moonless;  the 
chill  air  blew  in  at  the  open  doors ;  the  smell 
of  boiling  coffee  pervaded  the  rooms.  Ruth 
and  Hermia  Wood,  who  had  come  to  the 
dance  under  the  protection  of  Ruth's  broth- 
er, shivered  and  wrapped  their  cloaks  about 
them. 

Soph  Crimp  came  late  with  the  Bittern 
sisters.  Their  arrival  created  a  general  stir 
of  interest;  every  head  was  turned,  and  as 
the  three  walked  in  together  they  encoun- 
tered the  lively  stare  of  a  roomful.  The 
faces  under  the  old  pink  fascinators,  though 
blemished  with  powder,  were  sweet  with  an 
expression  of  innocent  happiness.  Close 
in  his  daughters'  wake  dodged  Dan  Bit- 
tern's ferret  face.  He  carried  in  his  hand  a 
brown  gallon-jug,  and  this,  with  a  prowling 
air,  he  deposited  underneath  the  table  in 
the  kitchen  among  a  collection  of  similar 
pottery. 

194 


A  Dance 

At  the  scraping  of  the  fiddle  in  Raleigh 
Post's  hands  there  was  a  shuffling  of  feet; 
men  and  women  drifted  together  as  if  a 
spell  were  broken;  the  company  awoke, 
summoned  by  the  sounds  into  sudden  life 
and  action.  In  a  trice  a  space  was  cleared 
down  the  centre  of  the  room.  Curly 
O'Coole,  wag  and  chief  caller-oflf  of  Windy 
Creek  circles,  shouted,  "  Get  your  pardners 
for  a  square  dance !  "  The  floor  rapidly 
filled  with  couples. 

Two  sets  were  formed ;  the  caller-off  with 
Betty  Flieger,  her  cheeks  a  flaming  match 
to  her  rose-colored  ribbons,  led  in  one ;  in 
the  other  Soph  Crimp  and  Diantha  Bittern 
were  leading  couple.  Mr.  Crimp  handed 
out  Estelle  Bittern — for  the  Campbellite 
preacher  sometimes  honored  a  dance  with 
his  presence,  and  had  a  pleasant  way  of  in- 
dulging in  the  diversion  himself  now  and 
then.  Polly  Bunt  had  for  a  partner  Hal 
Hopper,  and  her  brother  Alonzo,  resplen- 
dent in  a  pair  of  carpet  slippers,  appeared 
on  the  floor  with  Mrs.  Mort  Post,  flaunting 
a  waist  of  magenta  red. 

All  the  women  wore  high-necked  and 
I9S 


Windy  Creek 

long-sleeved  dresses;  the  reverse  would 
have  been  shocking  to  Windy  Creek's  code 
of  morality. 

"Another  good-lookin'  couple  wanted 
here ! "  shouted  the  caller-off ;  and  Ted 
Bunt,  blushing,  handed  out  Olympia  Flie- 
ger,  now  a  young  lady  of  thirteen  and  a 
half,  with  her  hair  done  up  high. 

"All  full!" 

The  fiddle  struck  up;  the  shuffling  feet 
fell  into  time;  the  caller-off  jigged  and 
clapped  his  hands,  crying,  facetiously, 
"  Everybody  rag !  "  Another  moment  and 
the  quadrille  was  in  full  swing ;  bending  and 
swaying,  bowing  and  sliding,  the  dancers 
pranced  through  the  figures,  obeying  with 
ease  the  orders  of  the  caller-off,  who  half 
sung,  half  shouted  the  calls : 

"  All  honor  to  your  pardners, 

"  And  honor  on  the  corners ! 

"  All  join  hands  and  circle  to  the  left. 

"  Left  alla-man,  right  hand  to  your  pard- 
ner,  and  grand  right  and  wrong. 

"  Once  and  a  half  with  an  elbow  swing 
and  keep  a-hookin*  on." 

Actively  observant  of  the  rapid  changes 
196 


A  Dance 

in  the  last  figure,  the  caller-oflf  reminded 
the  men  of  the  approach  of  their  original 
partners  by  snatching  Betty  off  her  feet  and 
bawling : 

"  Swing  your  turtle-dove !  Swing  her 
pretty !  '* 

"  First  couple  lead  out  to  the  right," 
shouted  the  caller-off. 

"  Lady  'round  the  lady, 
And  the  gent  so-lo: 
Lady  'round  the  gent, 
And  the  gent  don't  go." 

When  all  four  couples  in  each  set  had 
successively  galloped  through  the  mazes  of 
this  figure,  the  call, 

"  Lemonade  eight. 
And  you'll  get  straight!" 

untwisted  the  dancers  and  sent  them  prom- 
enading in  a  circle,  two  and  two,  and  a 
loud  whistle  and  a  yell  or  cat-call  brought 
both  fiddling  and  dancing  to  a  sudden  stop. 
After  a  brief  respite  spent  in  mopping  brows 
and  adjusting  loosened  hair-pins,  some- 
body roared,  "  Start  the  animal !  "  and  they 
197 


Windy  Creek 

all  went  at  it  again,  harder  than  ever.  Often 
each  quadrille  had  as  many  as  half  a  dozen 
changes,  so  that  the  same  set  occupied  the 
floor  from  ten  to  twenty  minutes  before  re- 
tiring, quite  blown,  to  give  place  to  others 
already  paired  off  and  waiting  impatiently 
about. 

Alonzo  Bunt  flung  out  his  carpet  slippers 
as  if  heels  were  quite  separate  from  his 
anatomy.  Betty  FHeger  bounced  heavily, 
with  immovable  gravity  and  precision.  A 
tall  man,  with  high,  round  shoulders  and 
bullet  head,  hopped  through  the  figures 
with  her. 

Curly  O'Coole  skipped  and  shouted : 

"  Swing  the  left  hand  lady, 
For  she's  an  old  maidy, 
And  all  chaw  hay !  " 
"  Swing  your  honey,  hey,  don't  you  know,  sonny, 
Swing  that  girl  with  the  cracker-box  feet !  '* 
"  On  to  the  next  and  swing, 
Misses  O'Flannigan; 
You  do  it  so  well  you  can  do 
It  aganigan ! " 

The  swing,  evidently  a  favorite  with  the 
caller-off,  was  a  whirl  round  and  round, 
198 


A  Dance 

each  girl  being  lifted  bodily  off  her  feet  in 
the  rapid  revolution. 

'*  Forward  two  and  back  again, 
Forward  two  and  pass  right  through, 
And  swing  that  girl  behind  you." 

In  the  "  forward  two  "  the  heavy  dough- 
face of  Huldah  Moss,  a  great  over-grown 
young  woman,  met  Estelle  Bittern's  with 
a  sharp  crack.  Quick  as  a  flash  the  Httle 
brown  fist  flew  out  and  slapped  the  bun- 
gler's face.  A  laugh  went  up.  Huldah 
Moss  burst  out  crying,  and  stood,  a  foolish 
picture  of  distress,  until  whisked  off  in  an- 
other figure.  And  in  the  rhythmic  uproar 
of  the  dance  the  6torm  blew  over. 

The  bullet-headed  man,  who  took  pas- 
time seriously,  though  a  dancer  of  mrny 
years'  standing,  had  evidently  never  yet 
mastered  the  intricacies  of  the  quadrille. 

Often  flustered  by  some  old,  familiar  call, 
he  would  flounder  clumsily,  until,  pushed 
and  pulled  this  way  and  that,  perchance  he 
fell  into  time  and  rhythm  again ;  or  halted, 
confused  and  gaping,  in  the  midst  of  the 
whirling  forms,  so  bringing  the  quadrille  to 
a  dead  stop,  with  the  figure  to  be  done  all 
199 


Windy  Creek 

over  again.  Yet  he  was  an  indefatigable 
dancer  and  put  the  girls  to  endless  trouble 
to  avoid  such  a  helpless,  scatter-brained 
partner. 

"  Ladies'  dough, 
A  little  more  dough !  " 
"  Bird  in  the  middle  and  three  hands  round, 
Bird  fly  out  and  keep  a-goin'  round." 

Sometimes,  as  a  rude  joke : 

"  Ladies  to  the  middle, 
And  gents  to  their  seats !  " 

without  warning,  deprived  the  former  of 
their  partners,  and  left  them  stranded.  But 
usually  the  caller-off  dismissed  the  sets 
from  the  floor  with  the  yell : 

"  Lemonade  all  to  you  know  where, 
And  hand  your  pardner  to  a  chair." 

The  square  dance  was  by  far  the  most 
popular  on  Windy  Creek.  Once  in  a  while 
a  waltz  tune  varied  the  tedious  sameness  of 
the  quadrille,  and  the  untuned  voices  of  the 
dancers  accompanied  the  fiddle  with  the 
mournful  ditty: 

"  Where,  O  where,  is  my  little  dog  gone. 
His  tail  cut  short  and  his  ears  cut  long, 
Where,  O  where,  is  my  little  dog  gone?  " 
200 


A  Dance 

A  hopping  movement  marked  the  waltz ; 
the  gUde  was  unknown.  Each  man  sup- 
ported his  partner  with  the  flat  of  his  hand 
placed,  with  fingers  outspread,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  her  back,  often  leaving  a  shadowy 
impression  thereon.  The  girls  rested  their 
chins  on  their  partners'  broad  shoulders. 

Groups  of  over-heated  revellers  rushed 
repeatedly  out  between  sets  to  cool  off  in 
the  night  air. 

Those  sitting  out  a  dance  on  the  benches 
discussed  those  on  the  floor,  indulging  free- 
ly in  personal  remarks  at  their  expense. 
The  kind  or  appreciative  word  remained 
unspoken ;  the  comments  were  usually  un- 
feeling, scornful,  prompted  by  envy,  tainted 
with  venom — a  trait  of  Windy  Creek  soci  ^ty 
evincing  its  kinship  to  society  of  higher 
degree. 

''  Huh !  We  think  we're  some  pumpkins, 
don't  we?" 

"  Look  at  Curly  O'Coole  lookin'  sweet 
at  Betty!  They  say  her  pa  up  and  asked 
him  to  marry  her." 

"Ain't  Betty  Flieger  the  dickens  of  a 
girl  to  dress  ?  " 

20I 


Windy  Creek 

"  Wonder  why  the  grass-widow  ain't  to 
the  dance  to-night  ?  " 

"  Didn't  have  no  company,  I  reckon." 

"  Oh,  that  wouldn't  phase  the  widow. 
She'd  go  to  a  dance  without  as  quick  as  with 
it.  Guess  she  couldn't  stand  it  to  see  Jean 
dancin'  with  Art.  She's  dreadful  jealous  of 
Jean." 

A  young  woman,  whose  partner  had  left 
her  for  a  moment,  fastened  an  inquisitive 
gaze  on  the  Wood  cousins.  She  was  short 
of  stature,  but  carried  herself  very  straight, 
and  she  wore  eye-glasses.  She  at  once 
entered  into  conversation  with  them;  she 
spoke  with  a  Yankee  twang.  Were  they 
strangers  in  Windy  Creek?  Where  were 
they  stopping?  How  long  had  they  been 
here?    When  did  they  expect  to  leave? 

"  The  Windy  Creek  people  are  so  vul- 
gar !  It  is  all  I  can  do  to  put  up  with  them," 
said  she,  elevating  a  pointed  chin. 

She  caught  Mr.  Crimp's  eye,  who  was 
smirking  and  bowing  to  her  across  the 
width  of  the  room.  She  promptly  turned 
her  back  on  him,  saying,  "  That  Mr.  Crimp 
is  the  most  detestable  creature  I  ever  met !  " 

202 


A  Dance 

"  May  I  set  aside  of  you  ?  " 

It  was  Mrs.  Bunt's  cheery  greeting.  The 
young  woman  had  flounced  away  on  the 
arm  of  her  partner,  and  Ruth  inquired  who 
she  might  be. 

"  Her  with  the  specs  and  chain  stringin' 
over  one  yur?  Why,  that  woman's  the 
school-teacher,  her  that  wallerped  Will 
Spruce  down  to  the  school-house,  an'  had 
her  school  took  away  from  her  an'  give  to 
Crimp,  thur." 

Hermia's  gaze  travelled  among  the  young 
men  present. 

"  Is  Will  Spruce  here  to-night?  '' 

"  Him  ?  Law,  ye  don't  ketch  Will  Spruce 
goin'  'round  to  no  dance  whur  Miss  Staver's 
at,  not  if  he  knows  hisself." 

"  Does  he  ever  go  with  the  girls  now  ?  " 
asked  Hermia,  dropping  into  Windy  Creek 
vernacular. 

"  Not  much  he  doosn't ;  no,  they  say 
Will's  soured  on  the  girls." 

In  reply  to  the  cousins'  query  whether 

the  floors  were  never  waxed  on  the  occasion 

of  a  country  dance,  Mrs.  Bunt  related  an 

instance  of  the  kind  that  had  taken  place 

203 


Windy  Creek 

on  the  Divide,  where  beeswax,  being  a 
home  product  and  cheap,  was  smeared  on 
the  planks,  and  "  whenever  you  went  to  pull 
your  foot  up  it  went  kchwump!  like  a  cow 
liftin'  its  hoof  out  of  the  mud ;  folks  said  it 
sounded  like  they  was  some  pretty  tall 
smackin'  went  on  to  the  dance  that  night." 

Mrs.  Bunt's  interest  in  people  was  too 
lively  and  her  tongue  too  restless  to  dis- 
course long  upon  things ;  and,  be  the  truth 
known,  her  guests  were  as  eager  to  hear  as 
she  was  to  relate  the  foibles  and  follies  of 
their  neighbors  on  Windy  Creek.  With  a 
shrewd  twinkle  in  her  eye,  she  began  by 
inquiring  how  they  liked  Crimp,  now? 

He  hadn't  got  the  friends  he  had  last  yur, 
but  that  swelled  head  of  hisn  hadn't  gone 
down  none  yjt,  so  fur  as  she  could  see. 
What  did  they  think  of  Stamper's  preach- 
in'  ?  Fur  her  part,  she  didn't  tie  to  Stamp- 
er's reHgion,  neither;  she  didn't  believe  in 
women  gittin'  up  in  meetin'  an'  tellin'  thur 
experimints ! 

Dan  Bittern  was  seen  emerging  from  the 
kitchen,  furtively  wiping  his  mustache  on 
his  coat-sleeve. 

204 


A  Dance 

Mrs.  Bunt  nudged  her  listeners. 

**Thur's  a  man  that  ain't  goin'  to  last 
long,  an'  thur  won't  be  none  to  shed  tears 
at  his  funeral,  neither.  He's  got  the  shakes 
bad,  now.  They  do  say  he's  wusser'n  what 
he  were  to  home,  an'  that's  a  sure  sign  when 
a  drinker's  drawin'  near  his  eend.  Did  ye 
ever  see  a  mean,  sneakin'  boy  to  kick  an' 
beat  his  little  dog  on  the  sly?  Well,  Dan 
Bittern,  he's  that  boy  growed  up ;  an'  them 
two  girls  of  hisn  ain't  no  more  to  that  cow- 
ardly critter  than  two  pitiable,  crouchin' 
dogs  fur  him  to  torment.  Thur's  them  that 
says  he's  meaner  sober  than  full;  but  full 
or  sober,  he's  alius  at  it.  They  do  say  he 
keeps  handy  a  wicked  lookin'  thing  made 
out  of  twisted  rope  an'  wire.  I  reckon  them 
girls  of  hisn  packs  fresh  marks  of  his  devil- 
try to  every  dance  they  goes  to,  an'  every 
Sunday  to  the  school-house,  too." 

Her  hearers,  pained  and  shocked,  gazed 
at  Diantha  and  Estelle,  gayly  dancing ;  and 
with  rising  indignation  asked  why  the 
neighbors  didn't  do  something  about  it? 

"  Do  ?  It  ain't  a  easy  job  to  stir  up 
neighbors  agin  deviltry;  didn't  you  ever 
205 


Windy  Creek 

take  note  of  that  ?  Everybody  knows  that 
Dan  Bittern  had  ought  to  be  tarred  and 
feathered  an'  rid  on  a  rail — but  who's  a- 
goin'  to  do  it  ?  An'  nothin'  ain't  proved  on 
him,  neither.  He's  that  sly,  he  ain't  never 
ben  ketched  at  his  deviltry,  nor  ain't  likely 
to  be.  Nor  them  girls  of  hisn  won't  never 
give  him  away.  Thur  ain't  no  place  but  the 
open  prairie  fur  them  to  run  to  when  Dan 
gits  on  a  rampage.  Thur  married  sisters, 
Malviny  and  Maggie  Milligan,  doosn't 
keers  overmuch  what  happens  to  Dianthy 
'n'  Stelle;  they  is  that  took  up  with  their 
own  fam'lies,  an'  that  crowded,  an'  that  put 
to  it  to  git  enough  to  eat.  An'  the  girls, 
they  won't  run  nowhere  else.  They  is  that 
proud-sperited  an'  high-steppin'  they  won't 
never  tell  no  sech  a  disgrace  on  thurselves. 
"  But  we-uns  has  seen  things.  Last 
week  we  was  sca'ce  of  hands,  an'  Lon,  he 
put  over  to  Dan  Bittern's  to  see  about  hir- 
in'  him  to  fork  potatoes.  He  looked  fur 
Dan  all  over  the  place,  an'  then  he  peeked  in 
at  the  door,  an'  he  see  Dianthy  a-sittin'  on 
the  aidge  of  the  bed  a-cryin'  fit  to  break  her 
heart.  She  looked  up  scairt  like,  an'  they 
206 


A  Dance 

was  a  blue  bar  riz  acrost  her  forehead,  an' 
her  mouth  were  all  swole  from  a  cut  on  her 
lip.  Lon,  he's  dretful  backward  with  the 
girls,  but  his  dander  riz  when  he  see  Dian- 
thy's  face,  an'  he  taxed  her  mighty  sharp, 
but  he  couldn't  git  nothin'  out  of  her.  That 
pore  thing  hung  down  her  head,  shamed- 
like,  an'  vowed  an'  vowed  agin  she'd  fell 
down  the  trap-door  into  the  suller,  an'  hurt 
herself.  Lon,  he  come  home,  a-sweatin'  an' 
a-jawing'  an'  a-cussin'  fur  all  he  were 
worth;  an'  Dan,  he  lost  his  job  of  forkin' 
spuds.  But  you  couldn't  have  proved  it  on 
him." 

The  fiddle  complained  in  querulous  re- 
iterations of  the  strains  from  "  Rabbit  in 
the  Cotton-patch "  and  "  Little  Brown 
Jug."  There  was  a  continuous  thumping 
and  stamping  to  mark  the  time,  as  the 
dancers  settled  to  downright  hard  work.  A 
baby  now  and  then,  more  clamorous  than 
the  rest  in  its  outcry  against  the  discom- 
fort of  late  hours,  called  its  mother  from  the 
floor,  and  her  partner  was  left  to  finish  the 
figure  alone. 

There  was  an  untrained  grace  in  the 
207 


Windy  Creek 

dancing  of  the  Bittern  girls.  Where  others 
trod  heavily,  they  with  springing  step  and 
nimble  foot  lightly  tripped  through  the  fig- 
ures, and  crossed  and  recrossed  the  floor 
and  swung  corners  as  though  they  moved 
on  air.  They  were  seen  at  their  best  when 
on  the  floor;  there  their  Southern  blood 
took  fire ;  enchanted  by  harmonious  sound 
and  motion,  flushed  with  social  joys,  an  ani- 
mation they  never  knew  elsewhere  trans- 
ported them;  their  eyes  sparkled,  their 
faces  flamed  with  light  and  color;  happy 
laughter  burst  from  their  throats.  They 
were  untiring  in  their  zest,  and  ever  in  de- 
mand ;  they  rarely  sat  out  a  dance.  To  two 
observers  on  the  benches  the  secret  of  their 
popularity  was  soon  no  secret.  It  was  not 
alone  for  their  prettiness  they  were  sought, 
nor  yet  for  their  engaging  manners,  nor 
their  graceful  dancing.  It  was  that  they 
courted  the  masculine  sense  with  a  coquetry 
inborn,  an  instinct  that  must  have  stirred 
in  infant  breasts  before  they  left  off  clinging 
to  their  mother's  skirts.  In  the  glance  of 
the  eye  they  wooed ;  by  their  deference  they 
paid  court;  though  themselves  far  cleverer 
208 


A  Dance 

than  the  men  they  flattered,  veiling  that 
cleverness;  hanging  on  every  word,  how- 
ever trifling,  laughing  at  every  sally,  how- 
ever witless. 

Soph  Crimp  joined  in  the  dance  with  the 
ease  of  one  long  familiar  with  the  art.  The 
girls'  lionizing,  the  conciliatory  attitude  of 
all,  had  fed  his  trivial  mind  until  in  social 
circles  he  had  acquired  a  lordly  and  inso- 
lent air.  Thrice  during  the  night  some 
bungling  couple  bumped  against  him,  and 
thrice  did  the  unlucky  offenders  feel  the 
weight  of  his  displeasure. 

The  supper  for  a  time  lured  the  dancers 
from  the  floor.  Sitting  at  their  ease,  with 
heaped-up  plates  and  cups  of  steaming 
coffee,  the  guests  gave  way  to  a  general 
gust  of  merriment.  All  stiffness  had  van- 
ished in  the  first  freedom  of  the  arm-encir- 
cling, rough-and-tumble  dance. 

A  short  literary  and  musical  programme 
followed  close  upon  the  refreshments. 
After  much  coaxing,  Polly  Bunt,  who  was 
considered  something  of  an  elocutionist, 
was  prevailed  upon  to  recite  a  poem,  each 
verse  of  which  she  ended  with  a  flirt  of  a  red 
209 


Windy  Creek 

bandanna  in  her  auditors'  faces,   accom- 
panied by  the  spirited  words : 

**  When  this  old  flag  was  noo !  " 

Claude  Fairley,  having  now  arrived  at 
the  vivacious  stage  of  tipsiness,  volun- 
teered a  song.  Somebody  pounded  on  the 
floor. 

Encouraged  by  the  loud  applause,  he 
stepped  forth,  and,  while  tapping  his  foot 
on  the  floor  to  mark  the  time,  began  to  sing, 
in  loud,  monotonous  tones,  interspersed 
with  grins,  a  foolish  set  of  verses,  whose 
burden  was: 

''  O  girls,  why  don't  you  be  good? 
Get  married,  and  do  as  you  should ! 
If  you  don't  look  out,  you'll  die  an  old  maid, 
So  rustle  around  or  get  left  in  the  shade! " 

With  an  air  of  gallantry.  Soph  Crimp 
waited  on  Diantha ;  he  was  plainly  a  youth 
fancy-free ;  but,  as  already  whispered  about, 
it  was  otherwise  with  the  radiant  girl  at  his 
side.  When  Soph  carried  away  her  cup  and 
plate  she  left  her  seat  to  speak  to  the  Wood 
cousins ;  in  the  midst  of  her  own  pleasure, 
not  unmindful  of  their  strangeness. 


A  Dance 

"  Sometimes  the  boys  gives  you  their 
arm  when  they  goes  to  take  you  out  on  the 
floor,  and  sometimes  they  doesn't/'  said  she 
in  a  voice  that  vibrated  with  happy  excite- 
ment. "  I  was  to  a  dance  when  we  first 
come  to  these  parts  and  wasn't  much  ac- 
quainted. And  my  pardner  went  to  take 
me  out  on  the  floor,  and  he  put  his  arm  up 
at  his  side,  and  jest  crooked  it,  so,  and  I 
'lowed  he  aimed  to  give  it  to  me ;  so  I  went 
fur  to  take  it,  and  everybody  laughed.  I 
never  was  so  plagued  in  my  life.  But  he 
looked  back  and  talked  to  me  jest  as  cool, 
when  we  walked  acros't  the  floor,  and  I 
'lowed  if  folks  laughed  like  that  at  things 
out  chur,  and  wasn't  polite  like,  I  hadn't 
ought  to  care ;  so  I  laughed  too,  but  I  was 
awful  plagued." 

The  music  struck  up.  A  young  man  with 
a  pleasant,  firm  face,  came  up  to  claim  the 
speaker  for  the  next  quadrille.  The  cousins 
had  noticed  his  unobtrusive  admiration  of 
Diantha,  and  had  been  contrasting  his 
manners  with  Soph  Crimp's  spoiled,  im- 
portant airs.  This  was  Phil  Schuyler,  the 
foreman   of   a   large   cattle-ranch   beyond 

211 


Windy  Creek 

Arrowhead;  he  was  considered  a  great 
"  catch,"  but  he  had  never  yet  seriously  set- 
tled to  the  business  of  wife-hunting. 

The  drinking  had  been  sly  at  first;  but 
as  the  night  advanced  it  was  carried  on 
more  openly,  and  the  visits  to  the  jugs  un- 
der the  kitchen-table  began  to  be  attended 
with  a  noisy  sort  of  hilarity. 

The  dancing,  too,  had  grown  rougher  in 
character.  One  figure,  which  should  right- 
ly have  been  a  pretty  thing,  the  now  wildly 
mirthful  dancers  distorted  into  a  grand 
romp;  this  was  the  grapevine  twist,  meta- 
morphosed by  the  Windy  Creek  young 
people  into  a  tussle  not  unlike  the  game  of 
'*  crack  the  whip."  As  the  ring  of  dancers, 
twisting  in  and  out  of  the  archway  formed 
by  the  leading  couples'  clasped  hands  held 
high  overhead,  pounded  along,  without  re- 
gard to  time  or  rhythm,  each  jerked  on- 
ward by  those  ahead  and  tugging  at  those 
in  the  rear,  Betty  Flieger  stubbed  her  toe 
in  a  knot-hole  and  fell  face  downward  on 
the  floor;  in  falling,  amidst  smothered  cries 
and  shrieks  of  laughter,  she  hauled  down 
half  the  ring  in  a  struggling  heap. 

212 


A  Dance 

"  Ladies  bow, 
And  gents  show  them  how!  " 

Two  couples  formed  a  star  with  eight 
hands  across ;  at  "  ladies  bow  "  the  girls' 
heads  were  encircled  by  the  clasped  hands 
of  the  men ;  at  "  gents  show  them  how  " 
the  girls  threw  their  arms  over  the  men's 
lowered  heads,  and  the  call,  "Shake  'em 
up !  "  sent  the  four  jumping  round  in  a  cir- 
cle, until  the  heads  within  the  encircling 
arms  were  swimming.  This  figure  called 
for  a  general  mauling,  and  a  retreat  on  the 
part  of  the  feminine  portion  to  pin  rents 
and  to  put  up  their  tumbled  hair  always 
followed,  while  the  boys  emerged  scarlet 
and  panting,  collars  rumpled  and  neckties 
awry. 

As  animal  spirits  grew  rampant  and  de- 
corum decreased,  the  swing  assumed  a 
wilder  and  more  bacchanalian  aspect.  Two 
cow-boys  in  from  the  range,  tough  of  muscle 
and  tall  of  stature,  spun  their  partners  until 
the  girls'  heels  struck  the  door-knobs. 
Waxing  half-mad  with  excitement,  a  spirit 
of  rivalry  seized  them,  and  they  laid  a  wager 
on  the  exploit. 

213 


Windy  Creek 

One  of  the  girls  thus  Hghtly  treated  was 
Polly  Bunt,  the  other,  Estelle  Bittern.  All 
other  dancing  ceased,  though  the  fiddle 
played  on  furiously.  Spectators  gathered 
around,  and  jests  and  rude  laughter  passed 
from  lip  to  lip.  "  Now  we've  got  'em  goin' 
South !  "  yelled  one  of  the  rivals.  "  Now 
she's  workin' !  "  bawled  the  other. 

"  Cheat  or  swing  "  was  a  favorite,  though 
not  always  a  safe  figure  for  the  inebriated, 
as  it  demanded  a  cool  head  and  a  steady 
temper. 

Choosing  between  the  orders : 

**  Swing  'em  if  you  love  'em, 
Cheat  'em  if  you  dare !  " 

Alonzo  Bunt,  instead  of  swinging  Mrs. 
Mort  Post,  grappled  with  her  partner  and 
attempted  to  whirl  him;  he  chanced  to  be 
the  bullet-headed  man;  dazed  by  the  sud- 
den onslaught,  he  resisted,  and  both  came 
crashing  to  the  floor,  amidst  roars  of 
laughter. 

The  gale  of  merriment  raised  by  this  acci- 
dent had  scarcely  subsided — the  figure  was 
becoming  frightfully  mixed,  for  in  its  be- 
214 


A  Dance 

wildering  maze  the  coolest  often  lost  their 
presence  of  mind  and  forgot  whom  to  cheat 
and  whom  to  swing — when  Dan  Bittern 
and  Claude  Fairley,  both  fuddled,  making 
for  the  same  girl,  collided,  clutched,  and 
crashed  heavily  to  the  floor,  snarling  and 
swearing.  The  floor  rapidly  cleared.  Wom- 
en retreated  to  the  kitchen  or  jumped  up 
on  benches,  while  the  men  dragged  apart 
the  drunken  disturbers,  thrust  them  to  the 
door,  and  kicked  them  out  into  the  night. 

Fights  of  this  sort  were  of  such  frequent 
occurrence  as  to  provoke  little  comment, 
much  less  to  break  up  a  dance.  The  fiddle 
took  up  its  strains  anew  and  the  dance  went 
on,  albeit  in  soberer  cadence  after  the 
dampening  effect  of  the  quarrel. 


215 


VIII 

TWO   WEDDINGS 

Before  sunrise  of  a  frosty  morning  two 
riders  left  the  main  road  and  galloped  up 
to  the  Crimp  claim — a  quarter-section  that 
had  its  history;  entered  under  the  Home- 
stead Act  by  an  impoverished  Free  Metho- 
dist, the  Campbellite  preacher  had  jumped 
it,  a  circumstance  that  had  not  a  little  to 
do  with  the  sudden  decline  of  his  popu- 
larity. 

Early  though  it  was,  there  were  signs  of 
life  about  the  place.  A  cock  was  swelling 
and  crowing  in  the  yard,  his  strut  an  im- 
pertinent copy  of  the  preacher's  own  gait. 
Thin,  bluish  wreaths  of  smoke  curled  up- 
ward from  the  stove-pipe,  and  there  was  a 
loud  frying  sound  inside  the  cabin. 

The  man  dismounted  and  rapped  smartly 
with  the  handle  of  his  cowhide. 
216 


Two  Weddings 

Mr.  Crimp  flung  open  the  door.  The 
smell  of  frying  bacon  rushed  forth,  and 
Soph,  with  floury  face  and  fingers,  looked 
up  from  the  sheet-iron  camp-stove. 

"  Why,  hello,  Art !  Out  early  this  morn- 
ing you  and  your  lady !  " 

Mr.  Crimp  was  unshaven  and  collarless; 
his  crumpled  shirt  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
slept  in. 

"  Howdy,  Mr.  Crimp,"  replied  Art  Post, 
for  he  it  was.    "  Kin  you  jine  us  two  ?  " 

A  sly  smile  wrinkled  the  brow  of  the 
preacher;  he  glanced  comprehensively  at 
the  young  man's  companion,  who  at  the 
moment,  in  subduing  the  unbroken  spirit  of 
the  colt  she  bestrode,  had  her  back  toward 
him. 

'*  Cert'nly,  cert'nly.  Art !  Anything  you 
ask's  granted  on  the  spot.  But  how  in  the 
dickens  did  you  get  th^  girl  off  without  the 
old  lady  givin'  chase?  Pretty  cute  fellow. 
Art.    You're  all  right." 

The  woman  had  now  mastered  her 
bronco's  will;  she  faced  about,  laughing. 

"  Jerusalem !  "  said  Mr.  Crimp.  "  Jiminy 
Christopher!  If  it  ain't  the  grass-wid — 
217 


Windy  Creek 

Mrs.  Despard.  Well,  I'll  be  switched. 
What's  went  with  that  there  little  Jean  of 
yourn,  Art?  Ain't  gone  back  on  you,  has 
she?" 

The  young  man  choked  out  a  vindictive 
oath. 

With  a  click  of  the  tongue  Mr.  Crimp 
took  in  the  situation.  " '  I  see,'  said  the 
blind  man.    Give  you  the  slip,  ain't  she  ?  " 

"  Married  yesterday  to  the  Springs," 
snarled  Art,  showing  his  teeth. 

"  I  see,  I  see.  So  you  mean  to  pay  the 
girl  off  by  unitin'  yourself  in  holy  matri- 
mony to  Mrs.  Despard,  eh  ?  I  admire  your 
spirit,  my  young  friend,"  clapping  him  on 
the  shoulder.  "  I  always  knew  you  had 
plenty  of  spunk.  But  what  will  the  old 
folks  say — your  folks,  I  mean?  What  will 
they  do  to  me,  for  aidin'  and  abettin' — look 
here.  Art,  I  don't  like  to  disappoint  you, 
but  you  know  your  governor  is  the  best 
friend  I've  got  out  here  on  Windy  Crick." 

Art  made  as  if  to  fling  back  into  the  sad- 
dle again.  "  There  are  others  who  would 
do  the  jining  and  no  questions  asked.  The 

justice  of  the  peace " 

218 


Two  Weddings 

"  Great  Scott,  Art,  don't  go  off  mad,"  ex- 
postulated the  preacher,  alarmed.  *'  You 
know  I'd  do  anything  for  Art  Post.  I  don't 
mind  takin'  risks  for  you,  and  you  know  it ; 
you  come  to  the  right  man.  *  Do  unto 
others  as  ye  would  they  should  do  unto 
you.'  That's  my  motto.  It'll  be  all  the 
same  a  hundred  years  hence.  Best  wishes, 
Mrs.  Despard !  Lovely  mornin'  for  a  wed- 
din' !  Come  in,  come  in,  both  of  you.  Get 
my  trappin's  out  in  a  minute." 

Soph,  grinning  a  good-morning,  set  out 
chairs  for  the  visitors. 

The  bearing  of  the  prospective  bride- 
groom was  fiercely  determined;  on  his  be- 
trothed he  turned  a  cold  neglect,  altogether 
undemonstrative  of  feeling.  The  Widow 
Despard,  unabashed,  hitched  her  chair  to 
his,  tucked  her  half-handers  into  his  pocket, 
and  bestowed  a  love-pat  on  his  coat-sleeve. 

The  place  had  a  bare,  disorderly  aspect, 
for  father  and  son  were  "  baching  "  here. 
On  the  west  a  sliding  window  dimly  lighted 
the  room.  Shelves  hung  at  either  side, 
stuffed  with  paper-backed  novels  of  the 
Seaside  Library  and  Albatross  editions^ 
919 


Windy  Creek 

and  musty  piles  of  the  New  York  Ledger 
and  Police  Gazette,  Beneath  the  window 
stood  a  rough  pine  desk;  several  of  the 
poets  huddled  in  ragged  binding  among  its 
litter  of  crumpled  manuscript,  quill  pens, 
and  cigarette  stumps;  in  incongruous 
union,  Darwin's  "  Origin  of  Species  "  lay 
cover  to  cover  with  the  "  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress," and  from  a  small  Bible,  bound  in 
black  leather,  the  preacher  hunted  out 
enough  theology  to  support  him  in  an  easy 
pastorate,  with  a  few  strange  characters  and 
sounding  phrases  from  a  pocket-edition  of 
the  Greek  Testament  thrown  in  by  way  of 
seasoning.  Such  was  Mr.  Crimp's  study; 
in  this  spot,  with  these  instruments,  the 
philosopher  of  Windy  Creek,  "  deep-versed 
in  books,  but  shallow  in  himself," 
**  evolved  "  his  sermons. 

The  preacher  rummaged  in  the  desk- 
drawer  for  the  marriage  service  contained 
in  an  Episcopal  prayer-book  in  his  posses- 
sion. As  elsewhere  stated,  he  had  none  of 
the  printed  forms  of  his  own  church  by  him  ; 
but  he  always  took  care  to  keep  his  fingers 
well  over  the  inscription  on  the  cover,  lest 
220 


Two  Weddings 

the  little  deception  be  discovered.  "  No 
use  tellin'  everything  you  know,"  he  would 
have  said. 

He  slipped  on  his  coat,  and,  being  now 
dressed  for  the  ceremony,  asked: 

"  Didn't  bring  no  witnesses  along,  did 
you?    Well,  Soph  here'll  do. 

"  Got  the  permit  ?    Le's  see  it." 

Art  produced  the  license. 

"  Any  hurry,  folkses  ?  " 

"  Got  to  make  it  to  the  Springs  and  back 
by  sunset." 

"  Honeymoon  trip,  eh  ?  Guess  you  c'n 
wait'five  minutes  or  so  till  sun-up.  IVe  got 
a  notion  in  my  head  to  perform  the  cere- 
mony out-of-doors  at  the  first  clap  of  sun- 
rise. Picturesque  idea,  you  know.  I  always 
go  in  for  the  poetical  side  of  the  thing.  I'd 
ought  to  have  been  born  a  poet. 

*  Out  of  the  sea  rose  the  sun.' 

IVe  got  my  brain  stored  with  lines  from  the 
poets,  both  great  and  small.  Do  you  want 
to  know  what  I  call  them  lines  that  IVe 
learnt  off  by  heart? — the  adopted  children  of 
my  brain. 

221 


Windy  Creek 

" '  Beautiful  were  his  feet  on  the  purple  tops  of 
the  mountains/  you  know." 

He  ushered  the  pair  out  of  doors ;  and  the 
four  awaited  silently  the  moment  of  day. 
All  was  quiet.  The  coming  sphere  flooded 
the  east  with  a  yellow  haze  and  drove  west- 
ward the  warm  light  of  dawn,  which,  creep- 
ing from  peak  to  valley,  painted  the  moun- 
tains a  pinkish  hue.  Pike's  Peak  first  caught 
the  beams  of  the  sun,  not  yet  visible 
from  the  plains ;  some  metal  object  on  the 
side  of  a  distant  foothill  shone  like  a  speck 
of  mica  embedded ;  on  the  brow  of  a  neigh- 
boring hill-side  the  window  of  a  shanty  re- 
flected the  rays  in  a  sudden  blaze  of  light; 
another  moment,  and  the  rim  of  the  golden 
ball  protruded  above  the  horizon,  and  Mr. 
Crimp  opened  his  book. 

The  bridegroom  stood  up  stiff  and 
straight;  the  bride  cuddled  to  his  side  and 
laid  her  cheek  against  his  unresponsive 
shoulder. 

As  the  first  sun-beams  touched  up  the 
ruddy  head  of  the  bridegroom  and  revealed 
the  details  of  the  bride's  costume — she  wore 
a  short  gown  of  gray  calico,  supplemented 

222 


Two  Weddings 

by  one  of  Art's  cast-off  coats — the  words  of 
the  marriage  service  sounded  sonorously 
on  the  frosty  air : 

Dearly  beloved,  we  are  gathered  together 
here  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  in  the  face  of 
this  company,  to  join  together  this  Man 
and  this  Woman  in  holy  Matrimony;  which 
is  commended  of  Saint  Paul  to  be  honour- 
able among  all  men:  and  therefore  is  not 
by  any  to  be  entered  into  unadvisedly  or 
lightly;  but  reverently,  discreetly,  advisedly, 
soberly,  and  in  the  fear  of  God.  Into  this 
holy  estate  these  two  persons  come  now  to 
he  joined. 

If  any  man  can  show  just  cause  why 
they  may  not  lawfully  be  joined  together, 
let  him  now  speak,  or  else  hereafter  forever 
hold  his  peace. 

The  humor  of  the  situation  here  so  struck 
Mr.  Crimp  as  to  oblige  him  to  wink  ex- 
pressively before  going  on  with  the  service. 

Arthur  Post,  wilt  thou  have  this  Woman 
to  thy  wedded  wife,  to  live  together  after 
God's  ordinance  in  the  holy  estate  of  Matri- 
mony ?  Wilt  thou  love  her,  comfort  her, 
223 


Windy  Creek 

honor,  and  keep  her  in  sickness  and  in 
health;  and,  forsaking  all  others,  keep  thee 
only  unto  her  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  live? 

Mrs.  Despard,  wilt  thou  have  this  Man 
to  thy  wedded  husband,  to  live  together 
after  God's  ordinance  in  the  holy  estate  of 
Matrimony?  Wilt  thou  obey  him,  and  serve 
him,  love,  honour,  and  keep  him  in  sickness 
and  in  health;  and,  forsaking  all  others, 
keep  thee  only  unto  him  so  long  as  ye  both 
shall  live? 

And  each  answered,  the  man  according 
to  his  phraseology,  "  Yep,"  and  the  woman 
according  to  hers,  "  Yes,  sirree !  "  And 
Art  Post  and  the  Widow  Despard  had  taken 
each  other  for  better,  for  worse. 

The  prayer  Mr.  Crimp  omitted,  for,  as  he 
said  afterward  in  describing  the  scene  and 
his  own  part  in  it,  he  never  could  pray 
without  an  audience. 

Mr.  Crimp,  followed  by  his  son,  then 
shook  hands  with  the  newly  married  pair, 
wishing  them  all  manner  of  happiness,  and 
added  an  invitation  to  breakfast,  not  unwill- 
ing to  convert  that  dull  meal  into  a  wedding 
repast. 

224 


Two  Weddings 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  taciturn  Art,  "  we 
had  a  bite  afore  we  started." 

He  placed  a  dollar  bill  in  Mr.  Crimp's 
outstretched  fingers,  and  sprang  on  his 
horse;  his  bride,  unassisted,  leaped  light- 
ly astride  of  hers,  and  the  pair  galloped 
away. 

Forgetful  of  the  breakfast  sizzling  on  the 
stove  within,  the  preacher  and  his  son  gazed 
long  after  the  riders,  and  each  fell  into 
revery. 

Soph  scattered  his  train  of  meditations 
first.  "  I  say,  pa,  youVe  put  your  foot  in 
it,  this  time." 

"How's  that,  son?" 

Soph  grinned.  "  Won't  old  Post  be  mad, 
though  ?    He  won't  do  a  thing  to  you." 

"  The  old  man'll  come  'round  all  right," 
said  Mr.  Crimp,  easily.  Then  he  burst  into 
a  fit  of  laughter.  "  But  I  thought  better 
things  of  Art." 

Soph  looked  about  for  a  pebble  to  fling 
at  the  meadow-lark  singing  happily  on  a 
fence-post  near  by,  and  remarked,  as  the 
little  creature  flew  away  with  a  note  of 
alarm: 

225 


Windy  Creek 

"You  bet  no  woman  will  ever  get  me 
that  way,  pa." 

On  Windy  Creek  news  travels  fast.  Be- 
fore night  everyone  within  a  radius  of  five 
miles  was  discussing  the  details  of  the  sun- 
rise wedding. 

"  Thur's  one  woman  that's  ben  made 
happy  by  Art's  mittenin',  if  thur's  half  a 
dozen  that's  had  thur  rest  broke  by  it ;  an' 
that  woman  is  Mis'  McLeod,"  announced 
Mrs.  Bunt,  in  recounting  the  tale  to  an 
eager  circle  of  listeners.  "  When  that 
woman  hearn  the  noos  that  Jean  were  mar- 
ried, she  busted  right  out  cryin',  an'  she 
kep'  a-cryin'  all  night  fur  joy;  she  were 
that  tickled  that  Jean  hadn't  married  Art; 
she  weren't  even  riled  'long  of  Jean's  not 
sendin'  her  notice  of  the  weddin'  till  after 
it  were  over.  You  see,  it  were  this-a-way. 
Mrs.  McLeod,  she  sent  Jean  to  the  Springs 
to  visit  her  aunt  fur  why  she  were  all  wore 
out  a-seein'  Art  an'  her  daughter  sweet  on 
each  other  an'  gittin'  sweeter.  It  use'  to 
make  that  woman  deathly  sick  to  see  Art 
jest  lookin'  Jean's  way.  Jean  she  didn't 
reely  keers  none  fur  Art;  fur  she  hadn't 
226 


Two  Weddings 

hardly  laid  eyes  on  this  young  widower- 
fellar— he^s  got  a  baby  left  him  a  year  old — 
afore  she  up  an'  married  him.  'T  looked 
like  she  hadn't  give  him  a  chanc't  to  git  the 
askin'  out  of  his  mouth  afore  she  took  him. 
Girls  is  queer  things. 

"Jean,  she  like  to  stirred  up  a  yaller- 
jacket's  nest  out  hyur  on  Windy  Crick  when 
she  meddled  with  them  Posts ;  so  did  Crimp, 
a  fellar  that  ought  to  knowed  better'n  to 
have  tied  one  of  old  man  Post's  boys  to 
the  Widow  Despard.  They's  war  'twixt 
the  Posts  an'  Crimp,  only  Crimp,  he's  fur 
makin'  up ;  an'  they's  war  'twixt  the  Posts 
an'  the  McLeods;  an'  none  of  the  Posts 
won't  speak  to  Art,  nor  have  nothin'  to  do 
with  Art's  noo  wife — the  old  folks,  nor  the 
boys,  nor  the  boys'  wives,  neither." 

Rose  Rooney  supplied  with  gusto  an  in- 
cident of  the  honeymoon  trip  to  Colorado 
Springs. 

"  Pete,  he  run  into  them  two  lunchin'  at 
Delmonico's.  They  was  eatin'  like  they 
was  half  starved — ^they'd  run  off  without 
their  breakfasts,  I  reckon.  The  old  lady, 
she  seemed  possessed  to  rub  her  face  acros't 
227 


Windy  Creek 

Art's  sleeve  after  every  mouthful.  She  kep' 
a-grinnin'  up  in  his  face  an'  ketchin'  him 
'round  the  neck.  'T  seemed  like  she  could- 
n't let  the  fellar  be.  An'  the  waiters  jist 
a-splittin'.  An'  Art  settin'  up  straighter'n 
a  ramrod,  an'  gittin'  madder  'n'  more  red- 
faceder  every  minute.  She's  awful  bold. 
The  first  time  I  ever  laid  eyes  on  that  wom- 
an she  says  to  me,  '  Art  Post  is  about  the 
prettiest  man  I  ever  seen.'  Yes,  I  alius 
knowed  the  old  lady  had  her  eye  on  Art." 

Mrs.  Mort  Post  disposed  of  the  culprits 
in  the  following  energetic  fashion : 

"  'F  I  was  Art,  I'd  send  the  old  lady  flyin' 
in  a  month's  time." 

"  She's  awful  old,  she's  pretty  near  twic't 
as  old  as  him,"  said  Diantha  Bittern. 
"  Why,  she's  gray-headed ;  she's  thirty- 
three  or  thirty-four  year  old." 

Toward  sundown  a  singular  cavalcade 
passed  along  the  road  by  the  Wood  claim ; 
a  young  man  in  a  two-wheeled  cart,  valises, 
bags,  boxes,  and  bundles  piled  up  to  his 
knees,  driving  a  rapid  trotter;  a  brown- 
faced  woman  sitting  her  spirited  bronco 
with  ease,  her  scant  skirts  and  mannish  coat 
228 


Two  Weddings 

flapping  in  the  wind.  The  bridal  proces- 
sion, for  such  the  spectators  knew  it  to  be, 
was  seen  to  turn  in  at  Art  Post's  gate,  and 
to  halt  beside  his  shanty. 

At  church  the  couple  made  their  first 
public  appearance.  It  was  observed  that 
Mrs.  Art  Post  kept  her  arm  about  her  hus- 
band's waist  during  the  entire  service ;  and 
her  affectionate  disposition  was  remarked. 

At  high  noon,  two  weeks  after  the  sealing 
of  Art  Post's  fate,  another  knot  was  tied. 
Unlike  the  first  wedding,  the  second  was 
witnessed  by  friends,  relatives,  and  well- 
wishers,  gathered  together  in  the  name  of 
the  Lord. 

For  more  than  a  year  past  his  daughter 
Betty's  future  had  caused  the  soul  of  Mr. 
Flieger  exceeding  great  tribulation.  He 
had  known  no  peace  of  mind ;  anxiety  had 
cankered  his  heart.  To  Betty  had  come 
that  momentous  period  of  her  life,  by  wom- 
an-kind soon  attained,  soon  passed — the 
marriageable  age.  Those  were  moments  of 
exquisite  torture  to  the  parent,  when  his 
imagination,  as  with  a  stereoscope,  flashed 
229 


Windy  Creek 

before  his  mind's  eye  views  of  Betty,  un- 
sought ;  Betty,  pointed  out  as  an  old  maid ; 
Betty,  year  after  year  picking  potatoes  in 
her  father's  patch,  rather  than  in  her  hus- 
band's. Stung  to  frenzy  by  such  visions, 
he  would  exorcise  by  prayer  the  hallucina- 
tions of  a  disordered  mind ;  the  corral,  the 
corn-field,  the  potato-patch,  were  frequent 
witnesses  to  his  piety.  He  had  been  tor- 
mented by  the  question  of  the  dance;  his 
religion  frowned  upon  it;  but  it  was  made 
manifest  to  the  solicitous  parent  that  the 
matrimonial  prizes  of  Windy  Creek  were 
not  to  be  won  in  the  church,  nor  yet  in  the 
Sunday-school,  but  at  the  dance.  Clearly, 
it  was  his  duty  as  a  father  to  provide  a  mate 
for  his  child.  A  husband  once  caught, 
Betty  might  safely  eschew  that  form  of 
worldly  recreation,  together  with  her  big 
sleeves  and  her  rose-colored  ribbons.  So 
it  came  about  that  Betty,  the  child  of  Free 
Methodist  parents,  the  subject  of  Free 
Methodist  prayers,  moved  unmolested  in 
Windy  Creek  society,  while  her  natural 
guardians  practised  a  fine  self-abnegation 
in  thus  sacrificing  a  religious  scruple  to  a 
moral  duty. 

230 


Two  Weddings 

.  During  the  fortnight  following  the  rupt- 
ure of  the  engagement  between  his  daugh- 
ter and  Curly  O'Coole,  Mr.  Flieger  had  lost 
flesh;  he  had  diminished  in  girth.  Upon 
the  non-appearance  of  the  young  man  he 
had  accosted  Betty  in  tremulous  tones ;  he 
had  demanded  the  reason  of  her  suitor's 
absence.  Her  reply,  "  I  reckon  I'll  let  him 
sweat  awhile !  "  provoked  a  storm  from  her 
mother;  but  her  father  had  groaned  in 
anguish  of  spirit,  and  turned  aside  to  seek 
accustomed  refuge  in  prayer.  The  person 
of  Job  Postlethwaite  was  the  substantial, 
the  corporeal  answer  to  that  petition-  The 
youth  had  been  received  with  open  arms; 
he  had  complaisantly  responded  to  the  ad- 
vances of  the  family ;  had  it  not  been,  how- 
ever, for  Mr.  Flieger's  zeal,  the  spousal  rites 
of  the  two  young  people  committed  to  his 
care  might  have  been  postponed  to  an 
indefinite  period  of  time.  Job  was  not 
averse  to  matrimony.  To  his  mind  the 
words  "  wife  "  and  "  helpmeet  "  were  syn- 
onymous; but  his  temper  was  phlegmatic. 
He  was  a  youth  devoid  of  passion,  without 
ambition.  To  use  Mr.  Flieger's  own  ex- 
231 


Windy  Creek 

pression,  he  required  "  boosting."  Job,  as 
a  member  of  the  family,  was  desirable ;  but 
Job  as  a  constant  table-guest  was  rather  an 
expensive '  appendage.  He  was  no  light 
eater,  having,  on  the  contrary,  an  appetite 
proportionate  to  his  bulk.  It  became  ap- 
parent to  the  subtle  instinct  and  clear  un- 
derstanding of  Betty's  father  that  nothing 
was  to  be  gained  by  waiting;  Job  would 
never,  of  his  own  accord,  commit  himself; 
a  proposal  was  fraught  with  too  much  un- 
certainty. This  matter,  too,  was  made  a 
subject  of  prayer.  With  inspired  language 
upon  his  lips,  Mr.  Flieger  approached  the 
young  man;  speaking  no  word  that  was 
not  revealed  to  him  by  that  higher  wisdom 
upon  which  he  leaned.  His  end  was  ac- 
complished, his  desire  attained.  The  youth 
accepted  the  situation ;  he  gave  his  consent, 
his  blessing,  as  it  were,  quite  as  if  the  tables 
were  reversed,  and  Mr.  Flieger  were  asking 
for  the  hand  of  Job's  daughter. 

Job  Postlethwaite  had  no  cabin  to  offer 

his  bride.     A  dug-out  was  his  all.     The 

potato-plants    in    his    patch,    fostered    by 

heaven's  rain  and  sunshine  rather  than  by 

232 


Two  Weddings 

stress  of  labor,  brought  forth  the  usual 
quantity  of  homely  brown  tubers.  Neither 
cow,  pig,  nor  fowl  had  Job;  it  therefore 
behooved  him  to  waste  no  vital  energy  on 
the  planting  and  hoeing  of  corn.  His  was 
not  a  nature  to  be  troubled  by  forebodings 
of  the  future;  he  was  without  inordinate 
longing  for  prosperity;  his  temperament 
was  calm,  equable;  some  ill-disposed  to- 
ward him — he  had  no  enemies — were  wont 
to  call  him  lazy ;  but  this  was  calumny. 

The  date  of  the  wedding  had  been  fixed, 
the  invitations  issued,  the  preparations  for 
the  feast  begun. 

During  the  week  preceding  his  nuptials, 
Job  Postlethwaite  remained  under  the  shel- 
tering roof  of  his  would-be  parents.  But 
rumor,  always  afloat  on  Windy  Creek, 
whispered  about  that  the  bridegroom  was 
ailing ;  stated  that  he  had  taken  to  his  bed ; 
and  lastly  affirmed  his  malady  to  be  that 
fell  disease  of  the  parotid  glands  commonly 
known  as  the  mumps.  The  bridegroom,  so 
said  rumor,  had  caught  them  while  bestow- 
ing a  fraternal  kiss  upon  the  young  sister 
of  the  bride,  debarred  from  school  by  a 
233 


Windy  Creek 

light  attack.  The  postponement  of  the 
wedding-day  was  prophesied.  Those  of  the 
invited  guests  acquainted  with  the  fame  of 
Mrs.  Flieger's  Southern  cookery,  grew  de- 
spondent. Among  people  outside  the  bonds 
of  Free  Methodist  brotherhood,  some  were 
ill-natured  enough  to  predict  that  Betty 
never  would  get  Job  now;  that  a  wedding 
put  off  were  a  wedding  broke  off ;  that  old 
man  Flieger  knowed  what  he  were  about 
when  he  struck  while  the  iron  were  hot. 

A  surprise  was  in  store  for  these  croak- 
ers. The  father  of  the  bride-elect  made 
proclamation  that  the  wedding  date  should 
remain  unaltered.  Inquiry,  conjecture, 
speculation  were  set  on  foot.  Much  talk 
was  created.     Gossip  emulated  gossip. 

The  nuptial  day  arrived.  As  the  sun 
neared  the  meridian  the  festivities  in  active 
preparation  at  the  Flieger  homestead  as- 
sailed the  senses  of  passers-by,  exciting  to 
such  a  degree  the  envy  and  curiosity  of 
some  as  to  cause  them  most  acute  mental 
suffering.  In  the  long,  low-roofed  kitchen, 
women  hovered  over  the  stove  or  bustled 
from  cupboard  to  table.  Confusion  reigned. 
234 


Two  Weddings 

Tongues  were  clacking,  spoons  stirring. 
Tliere  was  a  sputtering,  a  steaming,  a  hiss- 
ing, a  boiling,  a  bubbling.  Guests  crowded 
the  living-room.  Everyone  wore  his  Sun- 
day black,  and  every  face  was  grave,  even 
long ;  for  it  was  a  solemn  occasion.  Among 
the  guests  were  Ruth  and  Hermia  Wood. 
The  presence  of  these  young  ladies,  as 
much  a  surprise  to  themselves  as  to  their 
neighbors,  was  due  to  the  kindness  of  Mrs. 
Flieger,  who,  though  opposed  to  their 
"  fine  dressing  "  and  "  doctoring,"  had  dis- 
closed to  invalid  Ruth  an  unsuspected  ten- 
der side  of  her  character. 

Mr.  Flieger  fidgeted  from  one  room  to 
the  other  and  back  again.  His  eye  roved 
hither  and  thither  in  search  of  his  daughter ; 
and  when  she  appeared,  dressed  out  in  her 
bright  plaid  frock  and  pink  ribbons,  and 
pressed  her  glowing  cheek  for  an  instant 
against  his,  a  rush  of  emotion  dimmed  his 
sight,  for  Mr.  Flieger's  tears,  like  his  feel- 
ings, were  but  skin  deep. 

A  closed  door  guarded  the  shed-room  on 
the  left,  where  the  afflicted  bridegroom 
recHned.  Thither  the  evangehst,  pausing 
235 


Windy  Creek 

from  his  labor  of  handshaking  around  the 
room,  followed  Mr.  Flieger.  The  door  was 
jealously  closed  behind  the  two.  Their 
muffled  bass,  at  first  scarcely  more  audible 
than  the  faint  tones  of  the  invalid,  soon  in- 
creased in  .volume;  the  father's  agitated 
outbursts  were  mirgled  with  the  preacher's 
devotional  roar.  It  became  apparent  that 
the  bodily  ailment  of  Job  Postlethwaite  was 
being  subjected  to  a  trial  of  healing  by 
faith,  and  the  voices  within,  raised  in  sup- 
plicating prayer,  met  with  ardent  response 
in  the  lively  amens  of  the  listeners  without. 

The  test  was  brief.  The  voices  died 
away.  Brother  Stamper,  in  his  yellow  linen 
duster,  came  forth  and  took  his  stand  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  room.  He  carrieH 
neither  manual  nor  notes.  The  women  sus- 
pended their  culinary  operations.  Betty 
lunged  in.  All  rose  to  their  feet.  Mr. 
Flieger  rapped  on  the  shed-room  door; 
"  Ready,"  he  bawled. 

A  shocked  murmur  was  elicited  by  the 
bridegroom's  entrance.  Free  Methodists 
though  they  were,  not  a  few  of  the  com- 
pany but  found  their  risibilities  excited  by 
236 


Two  Weddings 

the  ludicrous  appearance  of  Job  Postle- 
thwaite,  as,  shambling  forward,  he  rolled  to 
Betty's  right,  and  faced  the  minister.  The 
innocent  cause  of  Job's  discomfiture  gig- 
gled aloud,  and  was  promptly  slapped  in  the 
face  by  her  mother.  Rose  Rooney,  choked 
by  the  effort  to  restrain  her  ready  laughter, 
went  off  into  hysterics ;  and  this  display  of 
natural  feeling  on  so  momentous  an  occa- 
sion as  the  widening  of  the  family  circle  by 
marriage,  was  regarded  by  all  present  as 
highly  proper  and  commendable.  Happily 
for  them,  the  Wood  cousins  succeeded  in 
keeping  countenance.  Job's  legs,  bowed 
outward,  impressed  the  beholder  with  the 
idea  that  the  underpinning  of  his  structure 
had  at  some  remote  period  of  his  existence 
given  way.  From  frequent  burrowing 
after  the  cool  spot  in  his  pillow,  his  hair 
stood  on  end.  His  eyes  were  swollen  half- 
shut.  His  countenance,  deeply  flushed  and 
bandaged  round  about  with  a  crimson 
neckerchief,  had  exchanged  the  symmetry 
of  its  roundness  for  that  of  an  equilateral 
triangle,  and  the  unusual  breadth  from  jaw 
to  jaw  lent  a  comical  air  to  his  physiog- 
nomy. 

237 


Windy  Creek 

Betty,  blushing  like  a  full-grown  peony, 
slipped  her  hand  into  Job's ;  and  so  this  odd 
young  pair  stood  up  together  and  were 
married.  The  ceremony  was  brief,  but  the 
prayers  lengthy.  Painful  grimaces  dis- 
torted the  bridegroom's  countenance,  and 
he  now  and  then  gave  vent  to  a  smothered 
groan,  which,  taken  for  a  sign  of  the  inward 
workings  of  spiritual  emotion,  was  re- 
sponded to  by  loud  amens.  Mrs.  Flieger 
wept. 

Shaken  and  thrilled,  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Flieger  followed  close  on  the  preacher's. 
He  had  took  Brother  Postlethwaite's  in- 
disposition to  the  Lord  in  prayer.  He 
had  went  to  the  Lord  a-purpose  to  find 
out  if  the  weddin'  was  to  be  put  off.  He 
hadn't  wanted  the  weddin'  put  off,  hisself, 
but  if  the  Lord  willed  it  so,  why,  he  was 
willin'.  He  knowed  how  to  say  them  words, 
"  Thy  will  be  done !  "  But  he  hadn't  had 
to  say  them.  The  Lord  had  answered  that 
prayer  of  hisn  afore  he  had  rose  from  his 
knees.  The  Lord  had  said,  Why  put  off 
the  weddin'?  Why  trouble  theirselves 
about  earthly  sickness  when  he  was  there 
238 


Two  Weddings 

to  heal?  The  mumps  hadn't  oughter  hen- 
der  a  marriage  from  bein'  solemnated,  no 
more  than  they  had  oughter  hender  a 
funeral,  especially  when  they  would  leave 
of  theirselves  if  there  was  faith  enough. 
Oh,  the  Lord  was  good !  The  Lord  be 
blessed ! 

Mrs.  Stamper  was  moved  to  give  a  sam- 
ple of  the  power  of  prayer,  and  Mrs.  Flieger 
chimed  in  with  another  instance  on  the 
same  topic;  the  elderly  saint  in  the  black 
calico  sunbonnet  testified  to  the  healing  by 
faith  of  a  boil  on  the  back  of  her  husband's 
neck;  a  graphic  illustration  of  Marky's 
swallowing  a  marble  was  contributed  by 
Rose  Rooney ;  and  a  fervid  testimonial  ser- 
vice threatened  the  festivities  of  the  wed- 
ding. At  the  outset  of  these  pious  ex- 
travagances the  bridegroom  slipped  away, 
groaning,  to  his  couch ;  the  discovery  of  his 
exit  took  of?  the  keen  edge  from  the  testi- 
monies, and  whiflFs  of  fried  chicken  and 
roast  pork  from  the  kitchen  brought  them 
speedily  to  a  close. 

The  afternoon  passed  away  in  feasting; 
thrice  in  succession  was  the  long  table 
239 


Windy  Creek 

filled  and  filled  again,  and  there  was  a  sur- 
feit of  eating  and  drinking.  The  bride- 
.  groom,  waited  upon  solicitously  by  his 
mother-in-law,  gazed  with  momentary  ani- 
mation into  a  plate  heaped  with  the  breast 
of  chicken,  mashed  potato,  squash,  and 
gravy,  only  to  find  that  with  the  most 
strenuous  exertion  he  might  open  his 
mouth  the  eighth  of  an  inch  and  no  more. 
The  good  things  had  vanished,  as  they  have 
a  way  of  doing  in  this  life,  before  Job  was 
able  once  more  to  exercise  a  proper  control 
over  his  jaws. 

The  young  couple  presently  set  up  house- 
keeping in  their  dug-out.  The  day  after 
her  establishment  in  her  new  home,  several 
reliable  witnesses  attested  to  having  seen 
the  bride  picking  potatoes  out  in  the  field 
while  her  lord  and  master  forked  them. 
Mrs.  Art  Post,  too,  it  was  said,  had  a  liking 
for  the  occupation.  Picking  potatoes  is  no 
uncommon  industry  with  the  women  and 
children  of  the  rain-belt,  and  brides,  for  the 
sake  of  being  near  their  husbands,  as  well 
as  to  ward  off  incipient  attacks  of  home- 
sickness, take  to  it  with  avidity. 
240 


Two  Weddings 

The  first  Sabbath  after  the  wedding,  a 
new  member  was  received  into  the  fold. 
Whatever  may  have  been  her  change  of 
heart,  a  striking  metamorphosis  in  her  ex- 
ternal appearance  marked  Mrs.  Postle- 
thwaite's  entrance  into  the  church.  Her 
frizzes  were  laid  low,  her  ribbons  discarded, 
her  stays  abolished;  her  full  sleeves,  the 
pride  of  her  simple  heart,  she  had  cut  down 
and  fitted  close  to  her  plump  arms.  To 
quote  Polly  Bunt,  the  latter  resembled 
"stuffed  bolognys,  an'  looked  jest  awful." 
One  other  step  sufficed  to  sunder  the  ties 
between  Betty  and  her  former  playmates; 
this  was  accomplished  on  the  day  that  Betty 
seated  herself  by  her  husband's  side  in  the 
Amen  Corner,  thus  tacitly  assuming  the 
sublimities  of  sanctification. 

"  She's  awful  changed,"  complained  Polly 
Bunt.  "  She  don't  go  to  dances  no  more, 
an'  she  don't  go  a-visitin',  an'  she  don't 
have  nothin'  to  do  with  the  young  folks. 
She's  growed  old  all  to  onc't.  If  that's  the 
way  folksact  when  they  git  religion,  I  ain't 
never  goin'  to  git  none,  so  there !  " 

241 


IX 

THE   COME-OUTERS 

It  was  evening  meeting,  and  the  people 
of  Windy  Creek  were  flocking  into  the 
school-house. 

"  Let  me  make  you  acquainted  with  a 
brother  in  the  faith !"  said  Mr.  Flieger,  pre- 
^  senting  a  stranger  in  black  to  Ruth  Wood's 
father.  "  Brother  Hawkey,  from  Denver ; 
he's  agoin'  to  preach  to  us  to-night."  He 
added,  with  a  heartfelt  chuckle,  "  This  is 
my  kind,  now.'' 

And,  indeed,  the  good  man  was  gaining 
quite  a  reputation  for  changing  religions; 
it  had  been  said  of  him  that  he  was  "  like  a 
tumble-weed  in  a  blizzard — you  couldn't 
tell  where  he  was  at." 

The  Evening  Light  bestowed  a  look  of 
severe  scrutiny  upon  the  elderly  farmer. 

"  Have  you  got  salvation  ?  Have  you 
found  the  Light?" 

242 


The  Come-outers 

Upon  the  other's  mild  response  that  he 
had  been  a  church  member  for  upwards  of 
fifty  years,  the  brother  from  Denver  de- 
manded, with  asperity,  "  The  church  of  the 
living  God  ?"  and  squared  himself  for  a  con- 
troversy that  was  nipped  in  the  bud  by  the 
opportune  arrival  of  Brother  Mellon,  the 
regular  preaching  elder  of  the  district.  The 
two  brothers  in  the  faith  flew  to  each  other's 
arms  and  saluted  with  a  mighty  kiss. 

Em  Post  came  in,  hugging  a  heavy  baby, 
while  the  superseded  toddler  waddled  by 
her  side,  and  her  husband  came  after, 
empty-handed  and  careless.  Mrs.  Flieger 
and  Rose  Rooney  rushed  to  meet  her  with 
a  loud  whispering  and  buzzing.  "  Let  up, 
ma,"  she  was  heard  to  say.  Her  soft  tones 
disarmed  the  words  of  their  rudeness.  "  I 
ain't  none  of  yer  old  Come-outers  r 

Few  outsiders  disturbed  the  sanctity  of 
the  meeting.  There  was  a  scarcity  of 
young  people.  But  the  Bittern  sisters 
were  present,  for  they  went  to  everything. 
They  sat  alone;  their  father  was  not  with 
them,  nor  was  any  rustic  swain  in  their 
company.  Estelle  had  decked  her  dress 
243 


Windy  Creek 

with  a  profusion  of  little  scarlet  bows, 
tacked  on  in  every  available  spot.  From  a 
red  ribbon  around  her  slim  waist  three  door- 
keys  dangled,  in  imitation  of  a  young  lady's 
chatelaine.  Since  last  year  Diantha's  skirts 
had  been  visibly  shortened.  The  sisters 
had  cut  off  their  abundant  hair,  and  wore 
their  short  locks  elaborately  curled.  In 
their  rear  sat  Mrs.  Bunt  and  Mr.  Crimp, 
with  his  sneer,  both  unsympathetic  listen- 
ers. 

Mr.  Crimp,  it  was  said,  no  longer 
preached  in  Windy  Creek,  for  the  very  good 
reason  that  he  had  no  longer  any  congre- 
gation ;  so  fleeting  is  earthly  countenance. 
But  Satan  finds  mischief  for  idle  hands  to 
do,  and  Mr.  Crimp  now  made  it  his  busi- 
ness to  break  up  every  Sunday-school  or- 
ganized in  that  region,  before  it  was  fairly 
started.  He  had,  in  addition,  gained  the 
reputation  of  being  something  of  a  fighter. 
It  was  told  of  Mr.  Crimp  that,  when  at- 
tempting to  disorganize  a  Presbyterian  Bi- 
ble school  just  started  at  Brierly,  he  had 
treated  the  people  to  a  "  tongue-lashing,'' 
and  threatened  to  "  sweep  the  door-yard 
244. 


The  Come-outers 

with  some  of  them."  A  late  arrival,  more 
spirited  than  the  others,  entering  the  school- 
house  just  in  time  to  catch  the  closing 
threat,  pulled  off  his  coat  and  started  for 
Mr.  Crimp,  vowing  to  "  swat  the  map  with 
him."  It  was  told  of  the  Campbellite 
preacher  that  he  and  his  grip  disappeared 
out  of  the  door  in  a  hurry ;  and  one  Sunday- 
school  was  left  to  flourish  without  interfer- 
ence. 

The  eye,  wandering  over  the  assembly, 
lighted  upon  the  dejected  figure  of  Job 
Postlethwaite  in  an  obscure  corner,  his 
head  dropped  forward  on  his  hands,  and  his 
young  wife  sitting  beside  him. 

Several  infants,  when  hushed  to  sleep, 
were  bundled  in  a  pile  of  shawls  behind  the 
door.  This  was  the  Baby  Comer.  The 
older  children  sat  with  their  parents;  wide 
awake  enough  at  first,  they  soon  succumbed 
to  the  soporific  influence  of  a  long  sermon, 
and  dropped  off,  one  by  one. 

In  the  year's  lapse  the  Amen  Corner  had 

not  been  done  away  with ;  on  the  contrary, 

the  holy  individuals  within  its  circle  had, 

by  no  perceptible  stages  of  development, 

245 


Windy  Creek 

been  metamorphosed  from  sanctified  Free 
Methodists  into  full-fledged  Come-outer 
saints. 

The  stranger  elder  from  Denver  was  a 
slight,  spare  man,  with  shiny  black  hair  and 
pointed  chin-beard.  He  did  not  shout,  nor 
strain  for  unnecessary  vocal  effect;  he  was 
possessed  of  a  glib  tongue  and  a  good 
memory;  he  was  familiar  with  a  string  of 
Scriptural  phrases,  and  he  tumbled  eagerly 
over  the  leaves  of  his  Bible  in  search  of  pas- 
sages or  even  whole  chapters  to  read  aloud 
for  reference.  He  began  by  scoring  the 
church. 

"  Cast  off  the  cloak  of  your  high-pocrisy 
and  unbelief,  and  leave  the  church  with  its 
abominations!"  admonished  the  elder. 
"  Seek  for  a  holier  life  outside  of  its  doors ! 
Sling  off  the  filth  that  men  has  covered  the 
Christians  with !  Wherefore  come  out  from 
umong  them  and  be  ye  separate,  saith  the 
Lord,  and  touch  not  the  unclean  thing,  11. 
Cor.  6:iy. 

"  Listen  to  that,  you  who  have  planted 
your  feet  on  the  infirm  and  tottering  foun- 
dations of  the  church !  Ain't  that  convinc- 
246 


The  Come-outers 

ing?  Could  anything  be  plainer?  Oh, 
what  a  wonderful  Book  this  is  for  telling 
us  what  to  do ! 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  how  Christian  went 
a-climbing  up  to  the  holy  city  after  he'd  left 
the  abominations  of  the  world  behind  him  ? 
Well,  that's  just  what  the  Lord  wants  you 
to  do,  leave  Babylon  behind  and  climb  up- 
ward. The  Church  is  Babylon.  Leave  it,  fly 
from  it ;  it's  in  disgrace.  Stick  your  fingers 
in  your  ears  and  run  like  Christian  done 
when  he  run  from  the  City  of  Destruction. 
Oh,  the  vileness  of  the  world.  Oh,  the  cor- 
ruptions of  the  church !  What  do  you  think 
of  a  preacher's  wife  standing  up  in  a  corner 
to  be  kissed  at  ten  cents  apiece  ?"  (Laugh- 
ter.) "  That's  just  what  happened  in  a 
church  within  my  knowledge,  not  a  great 
while  ago.  There's  the  abominations  of 
the  church  for  you ! 

"The  city  of  Denver,  where  I  come 
from  "  (impressively,  spreading  wide  five 
fingers)  "  is  full  of  churches.  Yet  the  Chris- 
tians in  that  city  I  could  count  on  the  fingers 
of  one  hand.    .    .    . 

"  I  don't  bring  you  a  lot  of  printed  stuff, 
247 


Windy  Creek 

got  up  by  man.  I  bring  the  Scriptures,  un- 
changed and  unrevised,  just  like  they  was 
when  first  written  by  the  chosen  of  God.  I 
don't  even  have  my  sermon  written  out. 
I'm  not  preaching  to  you  to  show  off  my 
learning.  I  don't  know  that  "  (snapping  his 
fingers)  "  about  theology !  And  you  don't 
miss  anything  by  it — ha,  ha!  If  I  was  to 
come  here  with  a  rigmarole  of  high-sound- 
ing, hifalutin'  words,  it  wouldn't  convert 
you  at  all ;  it  would  only  make  you  harder !" 
(Laughter.)  "  I  speak  to  you  as  the  word 
is  give  me  by  the  spirit  of  the  Lord.  I'm 
taught  by  the  spirit  and  I  teach  by  the 
spirit." 

Brother  Hawkey  appeared  to  have  for- 
gotten the  "  Gospel  Trumpet,"  a  little  pa- 
per published  by  his  sect ;  or  perhaps  he  re- 
garded it  as  too  slight  a  matter  in  the  way 
of  printed  stuff  to  deserve  mention.  He 
went  on : 

"  There's  certain  ordinances,  dear  ones, 
laid  down  by  the  Holy  Scriptures;  we're 
bound  to  obey  them.  And  we  find  our 
greatest  happiness  and  satisfaction  in  obey- 
ing them.  Now,  one  of  these  ordinances 
248 


The  Come-outers 

is  washing  each  other's  feet.  In  the 
thirteenth  chapter  of  John,  which  I  will 
read  to  you,  you'll  see  how  weVe  coni- 
manded  to  do  this  in  memory  of  the  Mas- 
ter. It's  just  as  sacred  and  we're  under 
just  as  great  obligation  to  obey  it  as  any 
other  command  in  this  Bible.  It's  beyond 
my  human  comprehension  how  the 
churches  that's  so  strict  about  the  Lord's 
Supper  ever  come  to  leave  out  the  ordi- 
nance of  feet-washing.  The  brethren's  sal- 
utation of  a  kiss  is  another  very  solemn  and 
sweet  custom  that  has  been  handed  down 
to  us  from  the  apostles.  **  Greet  ye  one  an- 
other with  an  holy  kiss,'  says  Paul.  '  Sa- 
lute every  saint  in  Christ  Jesus.'  But  the 
most  blessed  of  all  the  ordinances  we're  di- 
rected to  obey,  you'll  find  in  James  5 :  14,15. 
Open  up  your  Bibles  and  look  for  it.  Go 
home  and  learn  off  these  blessed  verses  by 
heart." 

He  wet  his  fingers  to  turn  over  the  leaves. 
"  How  the  Bible  clings  together,  don't  it  ? 
Ha,  ha! 

"  Is  any  sick  among  you?  let  him  call  for 
the  elders  of  the  church:  and  let  them  pray 
249 


Windy  Creek 

over  him,  anointing  him  with  oil  in  the  name 
of  the  Lord: 

"And  the  prayer  of  faith  shall  save  the 
sick  and  the  Lord  shall  raise  him  up;  and 
if  he  have  committed  sins,  they  shall  he 
forgiven  him,  ' 

"  If  any  among  you  feels  within  them 
the  moving  of  the  spirit,  that  gives  them 
the  power  to  heal,  let  them  heal  the  sick; 
and  if  any  man  of  you  can  heal  the  sick,  he 
is  an  elder,  and  nobody  but  elders  can  heal, 
for  it's  a  great  honor,  and  it  isn't  given  to 
everybody  to  do  it.  Just  before  I  came  up 
here  I  went  to  see  this  Schlatter  that's  fool- 
ing the  people  down  there  on  the  streets  of 
Denver.  The  street  was  blocked  with  car- 
riages. There  was  a  string  of  fools  stand- 
ing in  line  clean  around  the  block  and  more 
a-coming.  The  false  healer  took  each  per- 
son by  the  hand  as  they  stepped  up  and  let 
on  to  be  healing  them.  I  was  looking  on 
and  saw  a  blind  old  woman  come  up  to  be 
healed.  And  he  squeezed  and  squeezed  her 
hand.  When  Christ  healed  he  laid  his  hand 
on  the  blind  man's  eyes.  I  steps  up  to  the 
old  woman  when  the  healer  let  go  her  hand 
250 


The  Come-outers 

and  says  I,  '  Well,  are  you  healed,  my  sis- 
ter ? '  and  she  says,  '  Fve  been  treated,  but  I 
don't  know  whether  I'm  healed  or  not.' 
So  that's  the  way  it  is  with  all  these  poor, 
deluded  creatures  that  go  to  this  man  to  be 
healed.  Dear  friends,  beware  of  false  heal- 
ers !  There's  impostors  in  healing  just  like 
there's  impostors  in  every  other  department. 
Dear  friends,  take  heed  you  don't  let  these 
upstarts  in  the  name  of  religion — these  doc- 
tors and  false  Christs  and  Christian  Science 
cranks — blind  you  till  you  can't  see  the  true 
light.  Look  at  the  bottles  and  bottles  of 
medicine,  and  all  the  different  kinds  of  in- 
struments that  physicians  and  doctors  use. 
Don't  that  show  they're  experimenting  on 
the  people  they  undertake  to  cure?  Don't 
it  ?  Pah !  It's  no  better  than  being  healed 
by  the  man  with  long  hair  down  in  Denver. 
The  healer  in  Denver  is  opposed  to  the 
commands  of  God.  The  doctors  are  op- 
posed to  the  commands  of  God.  Dear 
friends,  with  prayer  and  faith,  and  laying  on 
of  hands,  we,  the  humble  followers  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  can  accomplish  what 
these  impostors  fail  to  do.  It  all  lays  in 
251 


Windy  Creek 

prayer  and  faith,  bless  the  Lord !''  (Loud 
cries  of  Amen.) 

The  elder,  expounding  the  doctrine  of 
sanctification — his  views  on  this  topic  did 
not  differ  materially  from  those  of  the  Free 
Methodists — said  : 

"  I've  got  the  same  salvation  Paul  had. 
My  carnal  nature's  not  here;  it's  gone  to 
the  devil,  where  it  come  from.  If  you  seek 
salvation,  dear  ones,  one  way  to  please  the 
Lord  will  be  to  drop  slang  and  tobacco  and 
all  those  nasty  things.  I  dropped  them.  I 
don't  use  them  any  more  Hke  I  once  done. 
I  threw  them  away  with  my  carnal  nature. 
Christ  says,  '  Go  and  sin  no  more.'  He 
never  meant  when  he  forgave  a  sinner  for 
him  to  go  on  sinning  again — it's  contrary 
to  the  rules  of  the  Gospel.  If  you  see  a 
man  that's  been  converted,  as  he  calls  it, 
and  then  goes  on  sinning,  you  may  know 
he's  a  liar  and  the  truth's  not  in  him.  Yes, 
everybody  that  claims  to  be  a  Christian  and 
don't  live  free  from  sin  are  liars,  and  the 
truth's  not  in  them.  When  I  got  salvation 
the  great  big  I  was  took  clean  out  of  me. 
Whenever  you  see  a  converted  sinner,  you'll 
252 


The  Come-outers 

see  a  hollow  place  in  them,  and  you'll  know 
that  same  great  big  I  has  moved  out. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  dear  friends,  this  relig- 
ion's an  enemy  to  worrying  and  fretting. 
I've  got  some  wrinkles  in  my  face,  but  they 
was  there  before  I  got  salvation.  I  haven't 
had  any  new  ones  to  come  since.  There's 
some  good  in  a  religion  that  keeps  the 
wrinkles  off.  Why,  I  don't  even  think 
about  cares  any  more.  I  left  my  family 
behind  me  in  Denver,  but  that  don't  worry 
me.  I  hadn't  thought  of  them  until  just 
now.  They're  all  right — they're  in  the 
hands  of  the  Lord.  My  sister  there  that 
came  with  me  from  Denver,  she  left  her 
baby  behind  her  and  she  hasn't  thought  of 
it  until  this  evening — forgot  she  had  a 
baby."     (Laughter.) 

"  This  religion's  an  enemy  to  fear,  too. 
Perfect  love  casteth  out  fear,  you  know.  If 
a  man's  afraid  of  anything,  he's  not  got  sal- 
vation. If  a  woman's  afraid  of  a  horse  or 
dog,  and  claims  to  be  converted,  she's  a 
liar,  and  the  truth's  not  in  her.  I  used  to  be 
afraid  of  a  bull-dog,  but  now  I  could  face 
rows  of  bull-dogs  without  winking.  I'm 
253 


Windy  Creek 

not  afraid  of  anything.  There's  no  fear  in 
me.  Why,  once  I  went  into  a  stall  where 
a  horse  was  tied,  and  that  horse  begun  to 
kick,  and  if  I'd  been  afraid  he  would  have 
kicked  me  a  belt ;  yes,  sir,  and  spraddled  me 
clean  out  of  the  stable.  But  I  wasn't  afraid 
of  him,  and  I  come  out  unharmed." 

There  was  a  great  deal  more  of  the  same 
sort  of  talk.  Above  two  hours  the  elder 
spoke  at  length ;  when  words  failed  him  he 
read  from  his  open  Bible  long  passages  and 
sometimes  entire  chapters,  interspersing  his 
reading  with  rapid  comments. 

An  altar  service  followed  the  sermon; 
there  was  singing  and  prayer ;  the  meeting 
grew  to  be  not  unlike  a  Methodist  revival. 
Brother  Hawkey  preached  salvation  'and 
the  cause  of  Christ ;  but  some  of  his  ortho- 
dox hearers  may  be  pardoned  for  growing 
slightly  confused  when  the  brother  in  the 
same  breath  called  sinners  to  repentance 
and  church  members  to  come  out  of  the 
church. 

One  simple  soul  was  touched — a  woman 
left  her  seat  and  came  quickly  forward;  it 
was  Em  Post,  with  her  sleeping  child  in  her 
254 


The  Come-outers 

arms,  a  moved  look  on  her  fair,  sun-burned 
face,  her  whole  air  one  of  gentle  acquies- 
ence  with  the  brother's  will ;  she  stepped  up 
to  the  circle  at  the  preacher's  right;  from 
each  woman  in  the  Amen  Corner  she 
stooped  to  receive  the  holy  kiss.  A  hymn 
of  praise  was  sung,  and  room  was  made  for 
the  convert  among  the  saints. 

A  strange  sister  at  the  preacher's  right 
hand,  a  slight,  black-robed  figure,  with  a 
white,  eager  face,  spoke  to  the  people.  The 
tones  of  her  voice  were  sweet;  she  had  a 
sing-song  delivery  that  was  not  unpleas- 
ing.  It  seemed  almost  as  though  she  were 
chanting  to  them : 


m 


3^^^ 


f 


Leave     the     world     with 


its 


fol  -  lies 


1,    Take    your     stand 


m 


It 


a  -  mong  the     sin -less   saints;    It     is    not  hard. 


it      is     just     as    eas  -  y 

255 


can    be. 


Windy  Creek 

"  Dear  ones,  come  to  the  Light !  Dear 
backslider,  come!  The  Light  is  shining 
above  you ;  you've  only  to  look  up  to  see  it. 
I  and  my  brother  came  to-night  to  show 
you  the  Light.  If  we  save  any  soul  we'll 
give  the  Lord  the  glory  of  it.  We'll  do  all 
we  can  for  you,  dear  ones;  but  few  there 
are  who  are  saved.  We're  only  human  after 
all,  and  the  Lord  above  has  power  to  save 
some  of  you. 

"  Dear  ones,  you  are  married  to  the 
world ;  pray  the  Lord  to  divorce  you  from 
it ;  pray  the  Lord  to  back  you  up  with  His 
spirit ;  turn  to  Him,  turn  to  the  Light !  Dear 
ones,  Satan  has  rocked  you  to  sleep ;  wake 
up  and  break  the  spell!  Once  I  was  like 
you ;  I  was  asleep  in  sin ;  I  woke  and  I  was 
peaceable  nowhere;  but  I  found  salvation; 
I  have  been  happy  ever  since.  I  just  praise 
God  for  it ;  my  heart  is  made  perfect  in  the 
Lord.  I  don't  sin;  I  can't  sin;  I  don't 
know  what  sin  is.  I  have  forgotten  all 
about  it.  I'm  a  servant  of  the  Lord.  If 
you  only  knew  what  it  meant  to  be  a  servant 
of  the  Lord !  Dear  ones,  try  it.  It  is  not 
hard;  it  is  just  as  easy  as  it  can  be.  I'm 
256 


The  Come-outers 

willing  to  do  anything  He  asks  me ;  anything 
at  all.  Sometimes  I'm  asked  to  speak; 
sometimes  I'm  asked  to  work;  it's  all  the 
same  to  me;  it's  just  as  easy  as  it  can  be. 
Here  I  can  speak  low ;  I  don't  have  to  raise 
my  voice ;  in  Denver  I  have  to  shout ;  here 
I  speak  to  a  few ;  in  Denver  to  a  crowd.  I 
work  among  women  most,  because  I'm  one 
of  their  kind ;  I  do  anything  I  see  to  do ;  I 
do  sewing,  or  dish-washing,  or  even  scrub- 
bing; there  is  nothing  too  mean  for  my 
hands  to  do.  It's  the  work  of  the  Lord.  I 
used  to  hate  some  people  and  love  others, 
but  my  natural  dislike  turned  to  love.  I 
love  them  all.  Try  working  for  Him,  dear 
ones;  it  will  make  you  happy.  You  are 
sin-laden  and  sorrowful ;  work  for  the  Lord ; 
you  will  shake  off  your  sin  and  forget  your 
sorrow." 

The  sister  spoke  long  and  prayed,  and 
her  words  and  the  spirit  that  breathed  in 
them  were  more  loving  and  earnest  than 
any  that  had  ever  yet  been  uttered  in  the 
school-house. 

Sister  Mellon,  the  wife  of  the  district 
elder,  testified  without  rising.  She  spoke 
2S7 


Windy  Creek 

with  difficulty,  and  a  scowl  of  pain  knotted 
her  brow.  She  had  been  tipped  off  a  load 
of  hay  that  liked  to  mired,  and  had  to  be 
carried  home  on  a  stretcher.  She  had  broke 
a  rib,  she  was  certain  of  that.  Brother 
Hawkey  had  been  sent  for,  and,  with  him  on 
one  side  praying,  and  her  husband  praying 
on  the  other,  her  hurts  had  left  her,  her 
bones  had  healed,  and  she  had  leaped  out 
of  bed,  praising  God. 

A  chorus  of  amens  greeted  this  announce- 
ment. Job  Postlethwaite,  lifting  his  head 
to  hearken  to  the  testimony  of  the  elder's 
wife,  was  distinctly  heard  to  murmur  that 
her  bones  would  be  mighty  crooked  set  if 
she  waited  on  the  Lord  to  heal  her.  Those 
who  heard  his  words  looked  meaningly  at 
one  another,  and  precipitately  drew  away 
from  him. 

Old  man  Wilkins  piped  up. 

"  They  was  one  of  my  grand-children, 
he'd  took  sick  abed.  His  ma,  she  reckoned 
he  hed  swallowed  somethin'  thet  didn't  gibe 
with  his  insides.  When  it  come  the  third 
day,  an'  the  leetle  feller  hadn't  got  no  better, 
Brother  Hawkey  here,  he  an'  me,  we  took 
258 


The  Come-outers 

to  our  knees,  an'  we  done  a  powerful  sight 
o'  loud  prayin'  an'  wrastlin'  afore  the  Lord. 
An'  as  I  Stan'  here  to  prove  it,  afore  day- 
light hed  struck  this  yearth,  thet  leetle 
shaver,  he  wuz  healed  by  faith." 

"  Amen !"  shouted  Mr.  Flieger,  starting 
up.  "  Bless  the  Lord !  He  does  his  heal- 
in'  free !  He  don't  dun  you  for  no  doctor 
bills!  Oh,  it  makes  me  happy  to  see  the 
sisters  an'  brethren  get  up  in  meetin'  and 
testify  to  their  healin'  by  faith !  The  healin' 
hand  of  the  Lord  has  ben  in  my  house  this 
week.  He  has  made  me  to  be  the  instir- 
ment  of  heaHn';  He's  give  the  power  into 
my  hands;  I've  ben  a-usin'  it — I've  ben 
a-usin'  it — I've  ben  a-usin'  it  to  the  glory  of 
His  name,  bless  the  Lord,  glory  hallelu- 
jah!" 

The  prodigious  roar  made  all  the  win- 
dows rattle.  He  went  on  again  in  tones 
slightly  modified. 

"  Ma,  there,"  nodding  his  large  head 
in  his  wife's  direction,  "  was  all  doubled 
up  with  pain,  an'  sent  Olympy  down  to 
the  field  after  me.  I'd  ben  in  a  prayer- 
ful frame  of  mind  all  day,  an'  when  I 
2S9 


Windy  Creek 

come  to  the  side  o'  the  bed,  I  jest  let  out.  I 
followed  the  spirit  an'  took  no  thought 
how  or  what  I  was  to  say,  for  the  words 
was  give  me  in  that  same  hour,  an'  they 
come  a-tumblin'  out  faster'n  I  could  holler 
them.  I  kep'  it  up  stiddy  fur  about  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  near  as  I  could  judge,  an' 
then  ma,  she  reached  out  an'  grabbed  me. 
'  Stop  it,'  says  she.  *  The  pain's  left,  thank 
the  Lord.'     '  The  Lord  be  praised,'  says  L" 

Mrs.  Flieger  devoutedly  chuckled  and 
said  "  Amen !"  And  a  happy  laugh  went 
round. 

Mr.  Flieger  ended,  more  in  sorrow  than 
in  anger,  by  anathematizing  the  Sunday- 
school  that  he  had  founded  a  year  ago;  it 
was  Babylon;  an  abomination  unto  the 
Lord ;  the  cage  of  the  unclean ;  the  habita- 
tion of  devils. 

"One  Sunday,"  said  Mrs.  Flieger,  "I 
see  a  lot  of  teams  go  by  to  the  school-house 
at  Sunday-school  time,  an'  I  felt  ,  like  I 
wanted  to  go,  too ;  I  couldn't  think  what  all 
them  teams  was  goin'  there  fur,  an'  I  come 
pretty  nigh  bein'  slipped  up  on,  fur  it  was 
the  devil  raisin'  a  racket  inside  of  me;  but 
260 


The  Come-outers 

I  knowed  I  hadn't  ought  to  go,  an'  so  the 
devil  an'  me  had  a  wrastle,  right  there;  I 
got  down  on  my  knees  an'  prayed,  an'  the 
Lord  whipped.  When  I  riz  up  I  didn't 
want  to  go  at  all.  I  didn't  care  nothin' 
about  Babylon." 

Mrs.  Flieger  continued :  "  The  Lord 
has  done  a  heap  of  heaHn'  in  my  house.  I 
wasn't  hardly  able  to  do  a  lick  when  Betty 
was  at  home,  I  was  so  poorly,  but  now  the 
Lord  has  made  me  strong  and  able  to  do 
my  work,  'cept  jest  onc't  in  a  while,  when 
I  git  them  dizzy  spells.  I  was  ironin'  the 
clothes  a-Chewsday,  an'  I  was  that  tired  an' 
weak  I  like  to  dropped ;  an'  I  prayed  to  be 
made  strong  so's  I  could  put  my  ironin' 
through,  an'  the  Lord,  he  laid  right  hold  o' 
that  iron,  an'  first  I  knowed  I  was  rubbin' 
it  over  the  clothes  jest  as  slick  as  anythin'. 

"  The  strength  that  we  git  from  the  Lord 
is  worth  more  than  man's  strength.  Them 
that  swills  beer  an'  tea  an'  coffee  ain't  as 
strong  as  them  that  does  without  an'  prays. 
I  never  use'  to  could  go  to  the  Springs 
without  packin'  along  my  bottle  of  strong 
coffee  to  keep  me  from  givin'  out,  an'  the 
261 


Windy  Creek 

last  time  I  went  with  my  butter  an'  eggs  I 
packed  the  bottle.  But  when  I  come  to 
take  a  swig  of  it  I  had  another  wrastle  with 
the  evil  one  to  keep  me  from  drinkin'  the 
stuff,  an'  I  prayed  an'  throwed  the  bottle 
jest  as  fur  as  ever  I  could  sling  it.  An'  I 
ain't  never  drank  a  drop  since,  nor  wanted 
to.  My  first  husband,  he  was  a  hard 
drinker.  An'  my  grandfather,  he  begun  his 
life  with  coffee  an'  he  ended  up  with  whis- 
key. He  had  him  a  big  farm  onc't,  but  he 
drank  it  up ;  he  had  a  horse  left  an'  he  drank 
that  up;  then  he  drank  the  saddle  up,  an' 
then  he  drank  the  bridle  up.  He  was  a 
teetotal  drunkard.  Oh,  the  drink  ain't  got 
no  holt  on  me,  thank  the  Lord !  Bless  His 
holy  name  forever !  I  git  so  full  o'  blessin' 
the  Lord  I  jest  can't  behave  myself!  I'd 
give  up  any  thin'  fur  Him — I'd  give  up  my 
old  daddy  there,  if  the  Lord  wanted  me 
to!" 

Old  man  Wilkins  blinked  at  his  daugh- 
ter, dazzled  by  the  sacrifice  she  meditated, 
and  seemed  to  have  lost  his  power  of 
speech. 

Mr.  Crimp  attempted  to  throw  a  wet 
blanket  over  the  testimonies ;  he  got  up  to 
262 


The  Come-outers 

say,  with  bitter  raillery,  that  the  Windy 
Crickers  were  for  all  the  world  like  the 
"  Athenians  "  and  "  strangers ;"  they 
"  spent  their  time  in  nothing  else  but  either 
to  tell  or  to  hear  some  new  thing." 

Rose  Rooney,  with  a  defiant  air,  said  that 
there  was  one  woman  on  Windy  Creek  that 
wasn't  tongue-tied,  and  she  wasn't  afraid  to 
tell  right  out  in  meetin'  who  that  woman 
was,  neither — it  was  Mis'  Bunt  (whereat  the 
lady  mentioned  became  the  centre  of  at- 
traction for  many  pairs  of  curious  eyes,  but 
being  blessed  with  a  comfortable  opinion 
of  herself,  kept  her  countenance).  That 
when  she  was  comin'  out  of  meetin'  an'  say- 
in',  "  Oh,  I'm  saved,  an'  I'm  so  glad,"  Mis' 
Bunt  had  said  to  her,  "  How  d'ye  know 
ye're  saved  ?"  an'  she  had  said :  "  Why,  I 
tell  the  truth,  an'  I  don't  git  mad,  an'  I 
don't  talk  about  folks  no  more;"  an'  Mis' 
Bunt  had  said :  "  Saved  nothin' !  I  don't 
believe  you're  saved  any  sech  a  thing!"  an' 
then  that  woman  had  lit  into  her,  an'  tongue- 
lashed  her,  an'  come  down  on  her  like  a 
thousand  o'  brick ;  an'  she  hadn't  sassed  her 
back  nor  nothin';  she  had  jes'  kep'  her 
mouth  shet ;  the  Lord  had  helped  her. 
263 


Windy  Creek 

Rose  Rooney  next  berated  the  absent 
Pete,  relating  how  he  had  gone  off  to  Cripple 
Creek  with  a  load  of  spuds  and  left  her  with 
all  the  work  to  do ;  an'  how  when  he  was  at 
home,  he  set  around  and  smoked  while  she 
slopped  the  pigs ;  and  how  he  was  so  mean 
he'd  take  the  cents  off  his  dead  grand- 
mother's eyelids;  winding  up  her  tirade 
with,  "  A  saint  couldn't  live  with  Pete,  he's 
so  ornery." 

There  was  to-night  a  strange,  evanescent 
brilliancy  about  the  speaker.  When  she 
sat  down,  out  of  breath,  the  young  fellow 
at  her  side  smiled,  under  his  incipient  mus- 
tache. He  was  a  youth  about  her  own  age, 
and  there  was  something  quizzical  in  his 
manner  of  taking  in  the  meeting.  He  wore 
the  usual  cow-boy  dress  of  fringed  leathern 
breeches  and  flannel  shirt,  belted  in;  his 
sombrero  lay  across  his  knee.  It  was  an 
ingenuous,  boyish  countenance;  bronze- 
colored  and  framed  with  tawny  hair,  worn 
long  on  the  shoulders. 

When  all  the  Come-outers  in  good  stand- 
ing had  testified  to  the  Light  they  enjoyed, 
and  had  seated  themselves  with  marks  of 
264 


The  Come-outers 

evident  approval  and  satisfaction,  a  huge, 
shambling  figure  in  the  rear  of  the  room 
rose  to  its  feet,  and  everyone  was  compelled 
to  face  directly  about,  in  order  to  see  and 
hear  "  Happy  Jim/'  A  body  seven  feet  in 
height,  and  the  mind  of  a  seven-year-old,  a 
foolish  smile  spreading  over  vapid  features, 
he  stood  eying  the  people  while  he  jingled 
some  loose  coppers  in  his  trousers'  pockets. 
"  Happy  Jim  "  had  been  converted  at  the 
last  meeting,  and  he  had  since  spared  no 
pains  to  make  publicly  known  his  intention 
of  testifying  with  the  rest. 

"  Yo-all  say,"  he  began,  "  that  Happy 
Jim  can't  testify,  but  I'm  a-gointer  show 
yo-all  that  Happy  Jim  can,  too,  testify." 

He  paused  and  jingled  the  pennies 
louder. 

"  Yo-all  say  that  Happy  Jim  can't  testi- 
fy; but  I'm  a-gointer  show  yo-all  that 
Happy  Jim  can,  too,  testify." 

He  ruminated  awhile. 

"  Yo-all  say  that  Happy  Jim  can't  tes- 
tify, but  I'm  a-gointer  show  yo-all  that 
Happy  Jim  can,  too,  testify/' 

The  grin  deepened.  "  Yo-all  say  that 
265 


Windy  Creek 

Happy  Jim  can't  testify ;  an'  I  say  so,  too/* 
And  Happy  Jim  sat  down. 

Throughout  the  entire  evening  the  at- 
mosphere of  the  meeting  had  seemed  to  be 
surcharged  with  an  excited  anticipation  of 
something  to  follow;  and  in  the  growing 
tensity  the  ludicrous  effect  of  Happy  Jim's 
testimony  was  lost. 

Report  had  long  since  published  the  fact 
that  the  society  of  Come-outers  harbored 
in  the  midst  one  possessed  of  devils;  that 
Job  Postlethwaite  was  the  victim,  and  that 
the  horrid  inmates  of  his  person  were  seven 
in  number.  It  had  been  whispered  about, 
but  with  secrecy,  for  fear  of  a  crush  of  un- 
believers at  the  meeting,  that  the  elder  had 
been  summoned  from  Denver  for  no  other 
purpose  than  the  casting  out  of  these  same 
devils. 

In  the  quiet  that  followed.  Brother  Haw- 
key stepped  out  into  the  space  in  front  of 
the  desk,  and  called  loudly  upon  the  name 
of  Job  Postlethwaite. 

The  wretched  man    stumbled    forward, 
pulling  at  his  neckerchief,  as  if  choked  by 
it.     His    knees    knocked    together.     The 
people  drew  away  from  him. 
266 


The  Come-outers 

The  elder  raised  his  voice : 

"  If  there  is  any  back-slidden,  or  unre- 
generate  among  you  to-night,  let  them  be- 
ware !  Let  them  take  heed  unto  themselves, 
for  when  the  devils  in  this  man  are  loosed 
by  graying  and  laying  on  of  hands,  they'll 
be  more  than  likely  to  enter  into  the  first 
vessel  of  wrath  that  comes  to  hand." 

The  people  looked  at  one  another ;  some 
of  the  children  began  to  cry. 

Brother  Hawkey  made  a  downward  gest- 
ure with  both  arms,  and  all  the  Come-out- 
ers fell  on  their  knees.  He  laid  his  hands 
on  the  bowed  head  of  the  man  before  him, 
and,  lifting  up  his  voice,  prayed  with  a  great 
noise  and  a  mighty  clamor.  Lashing  him- 
self into  a  state  of  ungovernable  fury,  he 
ran  backward  and  forward  in  front  of  the 
desk ;  he  kneeled  and  he  shot  up  again ;  he 
doubled  his  body  like  a  jack-knife,  and  he 
unbent  it,  as  if  in  torment ;  he  writhed,  he 
leaped,  he  groaned,  he  yelled,  he  howled. 
One  would  have  thought  him  a  more  fitting 
subject  for  devilish  habitation  than  the 
pacific  Job. 

The  victim's  features  were  now  distorted  ; 
267 


Windy  Creek 

his  face  was  livid ;  his  eyes  rolled — some  af- 
terward stated  that  he  foamed  at  the  mouth. 

The  frenzy  of  the  leader  affected  the  peo- 
ple. The  children  screamed  at  the  tops  of 
their  voices;  they  clutched  their  mothers' 
gowns,  and  hid  their  little  faces  from  the 
sight.  Cries  of  "  Lord,  help !"  "  Save  us, 
Lord !"  "  Lord,  have  mercy !"  swept  the 
room.  Betty  Postlethwaite,  her  fingers  in 
her  ears,  bellowed  in  her  corner.  One 
woman  shrieked,  another  fainted;  for  even 
a  ranch-man's  wife  may  swoon  under  stress 
of  violent  emotion.  The  audience  was  now 
transformed  into  a  swaying,  screaming 
mass,  through  fright  and  awe  half  de- 
mented. 

A  belated  ranchman,  returning  from  the 
city  in  his  empty  wagon,  heard  the  noise 
of  the  uproar.  He  burst  in  at  the  door,  and 
stood,  open-mouthed,  appalled  at  the  scene 
within,  and  went  home  to  report  that  them 
Come-outers  was  havin'  a  love-feast  or 
somethin',  and  had  all  went  mad  over  it. 

"  Come  out  of  him,  thou  unclean  spirits !" 
howled  the  elder.     "  I  charge  thee,  come 
out  of  him,  and  enter  no  more  into  him !" 
268 


The  Come-outers 

From  sheer  exhaustion  he  ceased  his  im- 
portunities, and  paused  to  mop  his  stream- 
ing brow. 

But  a  remarkable  change  was  passing 
over  the  countenance  of  the  possessed ;  the 
fat  face  broadened  into  a  tearful  grin;  he 
stood  upright  and  stretched  himself,  in 
awed  delight  at  finding  himself  whole. 
"  They've  went !"  blubbered  Job.  And  his 
friends,  pressing  around,  gathered  that  he 
had  been  able  to  count  them,  one  by  one, 
for  each,  on  leaving,  had  bestowed  a  part- 
ing kick. 

Job's  young  wife  flung  herself  on  his 
neck,  and  there  was  a  great  hand-shaking 
and  hullabaloo.  But  the  joy  of  the  people 
was  short-lived. 

Brother  Hawkey  rapped  on  the  desk  for 
attention;  he  wished  to  ascertain  whether 
the  devils  yet  lingered  in  the  company ;  did 
anyone  present  feel  any  inconvenience? 

The  clamor  ceased.  One  stared  at  an- 
other. Gradually  their  looks  centred  on  the 
father  of  Huldah  Moss,  a  brown  and  bat- 
tered countryman.  Those  near  him  backed 
away,  so  that  he  was  left  standing  alone  in 
269 


Windy  Creek 

the  middle  of  the  room,  twirling  his  hat  in 
his  hands.  Beneath  the  tan  he  was  seen  to 
be  very  pale.  He  confessed,  huskily,  to 
feeling  quite  unwell ;  he  had  been  took  sud- 
dent,  while  the  brother  was  praying,  with 
an  all-overish  pain;  he  didn't  know  where 
it  was  at ;  he  couldn't  place  it ;  he  felt  kind 
o'  queer  and  shaky-like,  inside  of  him ;  he 
didn't  know  but  he'd  got  one  of  them  dev- 
ils ;  yes,  he  was  dretful  afraid  he'd  got  'em. 

Huldah  Moss,  his  daughter,  went  into 
violent  hysterics. 

The  people  waited  to  hear  no  more.  A 
consuming  fear  possessed  them ;  even  now 
a  devil  or  so  might  be  lurking  in  their  midst, 
in  search  of  a  suitable  dwelling-place ;  their 
strained  nerves  gave  way,  and  the  meeting 
ended  in  a  general  stampede. 

Mr.  Crimp  jammed  on  his  hat.  He 
laughed  jeeringly :  "  When  all  these  isms 
have  passed  away,"  said  he,  in  his  strident 
voice,  "  I  mean  to  establish  a  church  here 
on  a  firm  basis." 

But  no  one  heeded  the  Campbellite 
preacher's  words. 

Later,  to  the  relief  of  all,  it  was  learned 
270 


The  Come-outers 

that  the  fears  of  Mr.  Moss  were  groundless ; 
he  passed  several  uneasy  days  and  nights, 
but  in  an  improved  state  of  health  he  ceased 
to  regard  himself  as  a  vessel  of  v^rath,  and 
concluded  that  he  had  been  mistaken  in  his 
symptoms. 


271 


ROSE    ROONEY^S    ERROR 

In  these  days  there  was  much  talk  of 
Rose  Roonej,  and  Windy  Creek  was  all 
astir  with  the  speculation  of  the  gossips, 
voiced  as  usual  by  Mrs.  Bunt. 

"  Her  'n'  Bertie  Brown's  awful  thick. 
He's  ben  hangin'  'round  her  all  summer. 
He  sets  off  aside  of  her  nights  at  meetin', 
an'  he  sees  her  home.  An'  she  don't  testify 
in  meetin'  no  more,  only  to  git  the  chanc't 
to  run  Pete  down.  Folks  that  don't  sus- 
picion nothin'  do  be  awful  dumb.  Rose, 
she  ain't  got  no  more  use  for  Pete.  She 
don't  keers  fur  home  nor  nothin'.  She's 
got  it  bad.  It's  like  pitch-pine  stickin'  to 
your  fingers  of  a  warm  day  when  Rose  gits 
her  head  set  on  a  thing.  Lord  only  knows 
how  it's  goin'  to  eend. 

"  The  Come-outers  is  at  the  bottom  of  it, 
an'  her  maw's  at  the  bottom  of  it.  They 
272 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

kep*  a-dingin'  at  her  all  spring  fur  havin* 
a  Catholic  fur  a  husband.  First,  they  was 
after  Pete  to  convert  him.  An'  when  they 
see  he  hadn't  a  mind  to  be  converted,  they 
spit  out  at  him,  an'  they  cranked  at  him. 
'T  seemed  like  they  couldn't  let  him  be. 
They  kep'  a-sendin'  papers  an'  books  with 
slurs  on  the  Catholics  fur  him  to  read.  An' 
they've  got  him  that  badgered — he  riles  aw- 
ful easy  with  his  red  hair — that  he  couldn't 
be  hired  to  step  foot  inside  the  school- 
house.  But  he  ain't  hendered  Rose  none 
from  'tendin'  ary  meetin',  an'  so  the  mis- 
cheef  keeps  a-pilin'  up  on  him.  They've 
got  Rose  all  out  with  herself,  till  nothin' 
pleases  her.  She  don't  do  her  work  half, 
an'  she's  forever  jawin'  at  Pete  an'  the 
young-uns.  'T  seems  like  her  maw's  lost 
all  the  sense  she  ever  had.  That  thur  cross- 
cut saw  of  hern's  set  all  aidge-wise  agin, 
an'  goin'  constant.  It's  Pete  bein'  a  Catho- 
lic, an'  Pete  smokin',  an'  Pete  swillin'  beer 
an'  coffee,  an'  Pete  this  an'  Pete  that.  'T 
seems  like  she's  furgot  she  were  the  one  to 
ketch  Pete  fur  Rose — an'  dretful  oneasy 
she  were,  too,  onc't,  lest  Pete  'ud  give  her 
273 


Windy  Creek 

the  slip.  'T  seems  like  she's  shet  her  eyes 
to  what  she's  doin' — drivin'  Pete  an'  Rose 
to  a  spHt.  'T  'ud  serve  her  right  to  have 
Rose  back  on  her  hands  agin,  an'  wuss  on 
her  hands  with  all  her  young-uns  than  if 
she  were  single. 

"  The  Come-outers  an'  her  maw,  they  be- 
gun it ;  an'  Bertie  Brown,  he  done  the  rest, 
hangin'  'round.  He's  'tended  meetin' 
reg'lar,  an'  the  Come-outers,  they  reckoned 
on  another  convert,  an'  they  palavered  him 
up  good.  But  he  ain't  jined,  an'  he  ain't 
no  Come-outer.  Religion  ain't  what's 
drawed  Bertie  Brown. 

"  Onc't  in  June  Pete  an'  Rose  they  had  a 
flare-up,  an'  Rose  she  left,  an'  went  home 
to  her  maw  fur  three  days,  an'  back-slid  fur 
one  whole  week.  It  were  tolt  around  that 
she  were  reel  reckless  like  in  her  talk,  an' 
she  says,  *  I'm  goin'  to  drink  beer,  an' 
swear,  an'  go  to  dances ;  I'm  goin'  to  be  as 
bad  as  I  want  to ! '  But  the  Mellonses, 
they  iled  her  up  agin;  an'  first  people 
knowed,  she  were  back  to  Pete's,  an'  back 
to  meetin',  an'  things  was  goin'  on  jest  like 
they'd  done  afore. 

274 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

"  Bertie  Brown,  he'd  have  quite  a  herd 
of  cattle  'round  him  if  he'd  kep'  all  he's  han- 
dled this  yur;  he'd  have  more'n  he's  got 
pasture  fur.  He  baches  on  his  claim,  but 
he  don't  hurt  hisself  none  workin'  it.  He 
gives  out  that  he  arns  his  livin'  at  buyin* 
an'  sellin'  cattle.  But  it's  kind  o'  queer 
about  Bertie — he'll  never  buy  up  none  o' 
the  young  cattle  hyurabouts.  He's  had  a 
whole  pile  o'  calves  offered  him  dirt  cheap, 
but  he'd  rather  go  clean  off  somewhurs  fur 
his  bargainds.  He'll  make  trips  a-horse- 
back,  way  to  the  east  and  south,  frequent ; 
he  about  lives  a-horseback,  though  he  ain't 
no  cow-boy ;  an'  he'll  come  home  in  a  few 
days,  or  a  week,  mebby,  with  a  head  or 
two  of  stock,  an'  often  as  pore  an'  scraggly 
critters  as  you'd  keer  to  see.  He  don't 
seem  to  keers  none  fur  them  bein'  pore. 
He  fattens  'em  up,  an'  sells  'em  down  to 
the  Sprungs,  .or  to  Arrowhead,  or  west  of 
hyur.  He's  a  heap  cuter'n  to  do  his  trad- 
in'  in  these  parts ;  thur  ain't  a  man  on 
Windy  Creek  that  'ud  tech  one  of  his  calves 
with  a  ten-foot  pole;  ary  a  rancher  but 
what  looks  sideways  at  him.  Oh,  Bertie's 
275 


Windy  Creek 

queered  hisself  in  this  country.  He's  a 
rustler,  all  right,  Bertie  Brown  is;  an'  it'll 
all  come  out  one  o'  these  days  when  the 
sheriff  finds  his  trail." 

The  Wood  cousins,  one  balmy  morning, 
were  surprised  in  the  act  of  sitting  down  to 
breakfast  by  their  widely  reputed  neighbor, 
who,  with  Jimmy,  Taddy,  Mark,  and  Ruth 
Lucille,  had  come  to  spend  the  day. 

Rose  Rooney  was  violently  red  in  the 
face;  she  was  in  her  most  captious  mood. 
With  a  bundle  of  carpet-rags  in  her  lap, 
she  sat  cross-legged  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  and  sorted  and  sewed;  dispossessing 
herself,  for  the  time  being,  of  the  custody 
of  her  children,  she  turned  them  loose. 

Taddy's  face  was  grimy  and  tear-soaked. 
Jimmy's  dimpled  with  smiles. 

"  He's  been  a-cryin'  all  the  way,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  He  cried  'cause  I  wouldn't  wait 
for  'im.  I  can't  never  walk  slow,  you  know, 
an'  Taddy,  he  jest  pokes." 

"Is  this  little  boy  tired?"  Ruth  asked, 
kindly. 

The  child  drew  back,  and  Jimmy 
thumped  his  unresponsive  brother,  saying, 
276 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

apologetically,  "  He's  awful  bashful,  'cept 
when  he's  acquainted  with  folks.  That  kid 
don't  know  nothin'.  But  he's  big  enough 
to  fight,  an'  he  c'n  fight  good,  too." 

"  Are  you  hungry,  Taddy  ?  Do  you  like 
crackers  ?  " 

Taddy  glanced  surlily  at  his  questioner. 

"  Tell  her ! "  his  elder  brother  sternly 
commanded,  with  a  dictatorial  kick. 

At  the  suggestion  of  something  to  eat, 
Taddy's  tongue  was  loosened. 

"  You  dot  some  cake  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Dot  some  pie  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,"  sighing,  "  crackers'll  do." 

Ruth  distributed  the  crackers  among  the 
children. 

Mark,  with  both  fists  full,  climbed  to  a 
seat  on  Ruth's  knee,  and  regarded  her  with 
an  air  of  sweet  gravity.  He  was  a  straight, 
solid,  round-limbed  child,  with  fresh,  vivid 
coloring.  Although  a  year  and  a  half 
younger  than  Taddy,  he  could  talk  more 
plainly  and  was  more  wide-awake  and  ob- 
servant. 

277 


Windy  Creek 

"  Can  you  say  '  God  '  ?  Say  it.  Say  it 
harder.  Let  me  see  your  teeth.  Have  you 
got  all  your  teeth  ?    Can  you  bite  ?  " 

The  cousins  wondered  if  Mark's  mother 
had  put  him  up  to  calculating  their  ages  by 
their  teeth. 

"  YouVe  got  you  a  nice  shanty/'  observed 
Jimmy,  critically.  "  But  your  door  ain't 
hung  straight.  Raised  a  pretty  fair  crop  o' 
'taters,  didn't  you?  Put  in  any  cabbages? 
Ourn  didn't  head  up  good;  they  busted 
open.  Pete  said  they  growed  too  fast  the 
first  of  the  season.    Raise  any  alfalfa?" 

"  No." 

"  We  did.  Had  a  pretty  good  stand  on 
two  acres.  The  rest  didn't  come  up  good 
— they  was  only  'bout  half  a  stand." 

"  Do  you  work  in  the  field,  Jimmy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  pick  'taters  till  my  back  aches." 

"Are  you  going  to  take  up  land  when 
you're  a  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir !  I'm  a-goin'  to  take  up  a  claim, 
an'  I'm  a-goin'  to  make  a  good  livin'  off  it, 
too.  You  git  you  a  woman,  an'  a  herd  o' 
cattle  'round  you,  ^n'  you'll  sure  git 
ahead!" 

278 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

Ruth  Lucille  acquitted  herself  with  dig- 
nified baby  decorum.  Not  once  all  day  did 
she  twist  her  face  into  even  the  prelimina- 
ries of  a  squall,  but  sucked  her  thumb, 
cooed,  and  slept.  A  round,  plump,  pink- 
and-white  baby,  with  silken  wisps  of  hair, 
and  a  placid  expression  in  her  blue  eyes, 
she  was  adorable  in  the  little  embroidered 
slip,  fashioned  for  her  little  namesake  by 
the  cunning  fingers  of  Ruth  Wood. 

"  Ruth,  you  lay  that  young-un  on  a  piller 
an*  give  her  something  to  chaw  on,"  or- 
dered Rose  Rooney ;  adding,  *'  Ma's  baby 
ain't  a  circumstance  to  this'n.  Ma  'n'  pa 
think  theirn  is  the  smartest  child  in  this 
country,  an'  they  can't  seem  to  git  over  it, 
someways.  Hallelujah's  so  dull — she  ain't 
more'n  half  bright — though  course  I  would- 
n't tell  ma  that.  She  ain't  got  a  sign  of  a 
tooth  comin',  an'  she  only  three  days 
younger'n  mine.  Ruth  Lucille's  got  two 
of  hern  a'ready.  Ruth,  you  know  I  named 
my  baby  her  other  name  fur  Josh  Hop- 
kins's wife.  Well,  that  woman  ain't  give 
the  young-un  a  thing — she's  a  awful  mean 
woman.  I  wouldn't  have  called  my  baby 
279 


Windy  Creek 

fur  her  if  Td  a'knowed  how  mean  she  was 
goin'  to  act  about  it.  Now,  you've  give 
Ruth  Lucille  lots  of  things — you  ain't  mean 
like  her.  I  couldn't  be  so  mean,  it  ain't  in 
me. 

"  Huldah  Moss,  she  takes  on  so  over  this 
baby.  She's  awful  nice,  but  she's  an  odd 
person — she's  twenty-nine  years  old,"  said 
Mrs.  Rooney,  with  a  meditative  air;  and 
added,  "  When  this  baby's  a  young  lady, 
you  girls'll  begin  to  break." 

The  children  grew  restless  and  noisy. 
They  began  to  explore  the  cabin.  They 
fingered  everything  within  reach,  and  kept 
their  hostesses  busy  rescuing  treasures  from 
trespassing  fingers.  Tomkins,  the  petted 
house-cat,  had  his  black  satin  coat  rubbed 
the  wrong  way  and  his  feelings  outraged 
until  he  took  refuge  on  top  of  the  cup- 
board and  held  himself  aloof,  with  angry 
twitchings  of  his  tail,  and  yellow  eyes  in  a 
blaze.  Rose  now  and  then  screamed  at  the 
children,  but  they,  being  clever  enough  to 
detect  her  secret  connivance  with  their 
naughtiness  in  another's  house,  did  their 
worst  without  interference. 
280 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

Ruth  gathered  the  little  mob  together 
and  quieted  them  for  a  few  minutes  by  the 
recital  of  "  The  Three  Little  Kittens  That 
Lost  Their  Mittens"  and  "The  Three 
Bears/'  Jimmy  listened  intently,  and  re- 
sponded with  fragments  of  wild  Indian 
tales,  winding  up  with  the  sanguinary  state- 
ment, "  The  Injuns  killed  the  people  dead, 
and  then  they  cut  them  up  in  chunks." 

Taddy  and  Mark  were  discovered  at  the 
cupboard  with  a  paper  sack  of  apples  be- 
tween them,  torn  across,  and  the  contents 
rapidly  disappearing. 

Hermia's  little  silver  watch,  hanging  by 
a  guard  from  its  own  particular  nail,  at- 
tracted Jimmy's  eye,  and  in  forcing  open 
the  cover  the  watch  dropped  from  his  hands 
to  the  floor. 

A  sound  that  struck  terror  to  the  hearts 
of  the  Wood  cousins  proved  to  be  Mark 
tranquilly  tearing  out  leaf  after  leaf  of  a 
treasured  illustrated  volume  of  Shakespeare. 
While  Ruth,  almost  in  tears  at  the  sacrilege, 
rearranged  the  torn  sheets,  Rose  leaned 
over  to  glance  at  the  portrait  of  the  poet. 
"  That  man  looks  like  Brother  Hawkey, 
281 


Windy  Creek 

don't  he?''  she  remarked.  And  Jimmy, 
hanging  over  the  pages  of  pictured  kings, 
generals,  knights,  and  clowns,  observed, 
**  Say,  them  men  is  dudes,  ain't  they  ?  " 
•  Rose  Rooney  sewed  vigorously  on  her 
carpet-rags ;  her  eye  was  ever  busy,  and  she 
threw  out  random  remarks  with  a  caustic 
tongue. 

"  Ruth,  that  train  of  your'n  is  good  to 
mop  the  floor  with."  Ruth  was  wearing  a 
pretty  morning  wrapper.  "  Don't  it  make 
you  nervous?  It  fidgets  me  jist  to  hear  it 
swishin'  over  the  floor. 

"  I  seen  your  pa  this  mornin'.  He  was 
jist  gittin'  off  fur  town ;  he  was  all  cleaned 
up;  I  hardly  knowed  him;  he  looked  like 
a  city  dude. 

"  Ruth,  hand  me  them  scissors  of  your'n 
- — mine  cuts  so  awful  dull. 

"  When  're  you  girls  goin'  back  to  the 
Springs?  When  you  leave  fur  town,  I'm 
goin'  to  come  in  an'  stay  all  night  with 
you."  The  Wood  cousins  exchanged 
alarmed  glances.  "  I  reckon  I'll  have  to 
pack  the  children  along.  Marky,  he  ain't 
never  seen  the  city  in  his  life,  poor  young- 
282 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

un ;  an'  Taddy  ain't  been  in  but  twic't.  I 
alius  feel  so  at  home  at  your  house.  You 
folks  is  plain,  like  me ;  you  ain't  tony.  Now, 
I  couldn't  never  think  of  puttin'  up  at  the 
Worthington's  for  a  night,  nor  fur  a  meal, 
neither;  they're  too  tony  fur  me.  D'ye 
know  them  rich  Worthingtons  ?  They're 
millionaires;  they  live  on  Cascade  Avenue 
in  a  hundred  thousand  dollar  house  an' 
grounds.  Them  Worthingtons  is  relations 
of  mine.    Mis'  Worthington  is  my  cousin." 

Upon  subsequent  inquiry,  Ruth  Wood 
and  Hermia  traced  to  its  source  this  claim 
of  relationship,  never  before  presented  by 
Rose  Rooney.  Mrs.  Bunt,  ever  ready,  gave 
the  desired  information. 

"  You  know  old  man  Wilkins,  him  that 
used  to  stay  at  Rooney's,  an'  were  their 
gran'pa  and  the  young-uns'  great-gran 'pa 
— he's  got  married  to  a  old  maid  that  come 
our  hyur  a-visitin'  from  down  in  Missouri. 
She's  third  cousin  to  Mis'  Worthington — 
she  tolt  me  so  herself,  when  I  went  to  call 
on  her,  but  I  took  it  with  a  grain  of  salt. 
When  I  see  that  woman,  I  as't  myself  whur 
she  were  raised,  she  were  that  slowsy. 
283 


Windy  Creek 

She'd  got  her  waist  an'  skirt  on  wrong  side 
out,  to  hide  the  dirt,  I  reckon,  but  she  had- 
n't hid  much,  fur  this  side  looked  Hke  it 
were  ready  fur  the  wash  a  month  back. 
Mebbe  she'd  put  her  things  on  wrong  side 
out  by  mistake  an'  then  left  them  so  fur 
good  luck.  Her  stockin's  was  out  at  the 
heel,  an'  she  were  skatin'  'round  in  a  pair  of 
the  old  man's  over-shoes — she  darsn't  lift 
foot  off  the  ground  lest  they'd  drop  off. 
Her  skin  were  swarty  an'  her  teeth  all  broke 
in  front  an'  yaller ;  she  looked  like  she'd  ben 
dug  up.  Her  hair  were  stringin'  'round  her 
neck,  but  she'd  ketched  up  a  lot  of  it  onto 
the  crown  of  her  head  with  a  tortoise-shell 
comb.  She  said  she  weren't  lookin'  fur 
comp'ny,  but  I  reckoned  she  were  used  to 
goin'  about  that-a-way." 

Query:  If  Rose  Rooney's  step-grand- 
mother were  Mrs.  Worthington's  third 
cousin,  what  relation  might  Mrs.  Worth- 
ington  be  to  Rose  Rooney  ? 

"  Seen  anything  of  the  Bitternses  ?    Dan 
Bittern's  keepin'  hisself  kind  of  clos't — no- 
body's laid  eyes  on  him  since  his  last  spree," 
Rose  Rooney  went  on. 
284 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

Jimmy,  who  was  listening,  spoke  up 
quickly  : 

"  Vine's  gone  to  Mag's,  an'  Joel's  sittin' 
on  the  jury." 

"  I'd  set  there  too  if  I  had  a  chanc't  to 
make  two  dollars  a  day,"  commented  his 
mother.  "  Hermia,  jest  step  out  an'  look 
fur  Marky.  If  that  young-un  has  took  it 
into  his  head  to  run  off,  I'll  lay  fur  him — 
I'll  lick  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life.  I 
won't  have  no  child  of  mine  droppin'  into 
no  sich  habits.  Dianthy  Bittern,  she  use' 
to  be  reel  stiddy,  but  she  ain't  any  more,  'n' 
Stelle  is  jist  gittin'  awful  wild.  They've  got 
everybody  down  on  them;  they're  talked 
about  awful.  The  boys  is  shyin'  off  some, 
but  they  keep  a-goin'  to  dances,  with  or 
without  comp'ny,  jist  as  it  happens.  Them 
two  girls,  they're  goin'  crazy,  reg'lar  boy- 
crazy." 

"  Them  two  girls  is  gittin'  awful  wild,  no 
boy  won't  look  at  'em,"  echoed  Jimmy. 

Mrs.   Rooney  continued:  "Ain't  Stelle 

the  greatest  girl  to  decorate  herself  out? 

She  was  all  decorated  out  with  red  bows 

last  Literary.    Dianthy's  an  old  maid.    She 

^  285 


Windy  Creek 

can't  never  git  married  now.  She  might's 
well  quit.  Soph  Crimp,  he's  about  quit 
goin'  with  them  two.  Some  say  it's  his  pa's 
doin's. 

"Ain't  Crimp  the  awfullest  man  to  be 
stuck  on  hisself ,  though  ?  I  alius  was  leary 
of  that  man.  An'  now  I've  took  a  despise 
to  him.  He  don't  never  preach  any  more 
now — he  can't  git  anybody  to  listen  to  him. 
Onc't,  'long  in  the  summer,  a  lot  of  the  peo- 
ple come  to  the  school-house  to  meetin', 
an'  Mr.  Stamper,  he  was  took  sick,  an'  Mr. 
Mellon  it  wasn't  his  day  to  preach.  An' 
Crimp,  he  got  up  an'  said  he'd  preach  if 
they'd  like  him  to;  he'd  jist  thought  of  a 
fine  sermon  an'  he  had  it  down  pat.  But 
nobody  ast  him  to,  an'  they  had  a  testi- 
monial service  instid.  Crimp,  he  set  it  out, 
but  they  said  he  went  home  awful  mad. 
An'  he  ain't  never  got  up  to  preach  since. 
Oh,  Crimp's  small  potatoes,  he  ain't  what 
he  cracked  himself  up  to  be. 

"  Stamper,  he's  a  better  preacher  than 

what  Crimp  is;  but  he's  awful  ignorant — 

he  can't  hold  a  candle  to  Mr.  Mellon.    He's 

so  plaguey  noisy,  too — ^they  can't  a  blessed 

286 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

baby  git  to  sleep  with  him  a-bellerin'  in  the 
pulpit;  he's  got  every  young-un  wide- 
awake an'  fussin'  with  his  preachin'  an' 
prayin'.  I  do  like  a  preacher  that  can  pray 
quiet  an'  peaceable  like  Mr.  Mellon. 

"  They  can't  nobody  come  up  to  the  Mel- 
lonses.  Mis'  Mellon,  she's  a  perfect  lady — 
she's  real  stylish  an'  young-lookin'  to  be 
the  mother  of  two  young  ladies.  Some 
call  her  stuck-up;  but  she  ain't,  she's  jist 
as  common  as  she  can  be.  She'll  run  in  on 
you  an'  eat  a  meal  with  you  any  time,  an' 
she'll  carry  you  off  to  eat  with  her.  Mr. 
Mellon,  he's  cpmmon,  too.  He's  well  edu- 
cated; he  can  preach  most  as  good  as 
Brother  Hawkey  can.  Them  Mellonses  is 
the  best  friends  I've  got.  They  ain't  a  thing 
they  wouldn't  do  fur  me — they  set  sich 
store  by  me.  Mr.  Mellon,  he  calls  me  his 
right-hand  man  at  testimonials." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  a  Come- 
outer  ?  "  inquired  Hermia  Wood. 

Mrs.  Rooney  laughed  aloud. 

"  Come-outer !  Well,  that  gits  me.  We 
don't  never  call  ourselves  that  name — it's 
a  slur  on  us,  you  know.  That's  what  people 
287 


Windy  Creek 

cafl  us  when  they  want  to  badger  us.  We're 
the  Evening  Lights.  You  mustn't  mind  my 
laughin'  at  you,  Hermia.  I  knowed  you 
didn't  mean  it  fur  a  slur,  but  it  tickled  me 
when  you  called  me  a  Come-outer."  Her- 
mia apologized  for  her  very  natural  mis- 
take. 

His  mother's  example  stimulated  Jimmy 
to  gossip,  and  he  announced  to  the  com- 
pany in  general  that  he  seen  Bertie  Brown 
last  night. 

Rose  Rooney  looked  up  quickly;  a  con- 
scious blush  stained  her  cheeks.  "  Where'd 
you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Over  to  Bunt's.  Lon  Bunt,  he  says 
Bertie  Brown's  a  rustler!  " 

Rose  made  a  dive  at  him,  but  her  eldest 
born  was  too  quick  for  her,  and  ran  laugh- 
ing out  at  the  door.  Her  face  was  deeply 
dyed  with  crimson.  "  That's  the  orneriest 
youngster  I  ever  raised !  "  she  blazed.  "  But 
I  can't  be  expected  to  have  decent  children 
with  a  wild-cat  for  a  husband!  " 

She  rambled  on,  heaping  abuse  upon  the 
absent  partner  of  her  lot ;  it  was  remarked 
that  she  had  nothing  to  say  of  Bertie  Brown, 
nor  did  she  once  mention  his  name. 
288 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

"  The  men  in  this  State  is  so  ornery,  an' 
I've  got  the  orneriest  man  of  all.  Pete, 
when  he  comes  home  nights  from  work,  he 
sets  around  an'  smokes  till  I  tell  him  if  I 
was  a  ham  of  meat  I'd  be  pretty  well 
smoked.  Many's  the  wiggin'  I've  give  him 
for  it,  but  he  keeps  right  on.  He's  alius 
a-growHn'  at  me  to  pick  potatoes.  He  says 
to  me  yisterday  mornin',  '  There's  your  sis- 
ter out  on  the  hill  pickin'  potatoes;  why 
can't  you  do  like  her  ? '  he  says.  '  Why,' 
I  says  to  him,  *  Betty  ain't  got  no  children 
an'  I  have,  blame  it ! '  I  could  'a'  slapped 
him !  I  do  every  bit  of  the  milkin'  an'  swill- 
in'  the  pigs,  honest  I  do ;  an'  I  never  git  no 
help  from  him.  Men  is  so  mean.  I  was 
tellin'  ma  'n'  pa  about  it  yisterday  when  I 
was  over  home,  an'  they  said  they  jist 
wouldn't  do  it  if  they  was  me;  they  said 
they  wouldn't  be  put  upon.  I  don't  believe 
your  pa  ever  ast  your  ma  to  work  out  in 
the  fields;  if  he  done  sich  a  thing  onc't  I 
reckon  Mis'  Wood  would  be  so  surprised  at 
him  he  wouldn't  be  likely  to  do  it  agin. 
There's  Betty  now,  a-pickin'  potatoes  for 
Job,  an'  she  so  sick  she  can't  hardly  stand 
289 


Windy  Creek 

up — jist  gittin'  over  bein'  delirious  an'  talk- 
in'  out  of  her  head.  I'd  like  to  see  the  color 
of  his  hair  that  could  make  me  do  it.  But 
Betty's  young  yit;  she's  got  lots  to  learn. 
Betty's  kind  of  odd;  she  hasn't  been  away 
from  home  enough  to  know  how  to  act ;  an' 
she  takes  after  pa,  too;  he's  kind  of  odd. 
Lord,  when  I  was  her  age !  You  see  when 
she  'n'  Job  married  she  was  jist  a  child ;  she 
ain't  learnt  much  yit,  neither;  she's  jist  as 
innocent ;  she's  jist  a  angel ;  she  don't  know 
nothin'  about  the  world.  I've  seen  that  girl, 
when  Job  spoke  short  to  her,  look  like  she 
was  ready  to  cry.  Her  eyes  they  fill  right 
up  with  tears  jist  at  nothin'.  Betty  was 
raised  tender-hearted.  Nobody  never  spoke 
cross  to  her  at  home,  'cept  perhaps  jist  onc't 
in  a  while,  when  something  went  wrong. 
Pa,  he  was  alius  so  good  to  her,  too.  She 
was  the  pick  of  the  family.  Oh,  I  tell  you, 
girls,  we  git  mighty  different  treatment 
when  we  leave  home.  Home  ain't  nothin' 
to  bein'  married.  You  git  more  hard 
knocks  from  the  ones  that's  promised  to 
love  an'  cherish  you  than  a  little  bit.  I've 
see  the  time  when  I  was  tender-hearted,  like 
290 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

Betty;  but  Fve  had  to  git  all  over  that ;  I've 
learnt  to  be  as  hard  as  a  rock," — her  blue 
eyes  full  of  fire. 

"  I  hate  this  pesky  country  where  you 
can't  raise  nothin'  but  potatoes!  There 
ain't  nothin'  out  here  but  wind  an'  dust  an' 
hard  work.  It  seems  like  the  wind  is  goin' 
to  dry  us  all  up  an'  blow  us  away.  I  declare 
to  goodness,  I  wish't  would.  I  wish  some- 
thing would  happen.  I  want  to  clear  out 
from  Windy  Crick ;  I  want  to  go  to  live  in 
the  Springs  or  in  Pueblo.  If  I  had  the  right 
kind  of  a  man,"  said  Rose,  choking  over 
her  wrongs,  "  a  man  that  had  some  sand, 
I  would  be  livin'  in  the  city,  you  bet ! 

"  Ruth,  wouldn't  you  rather  have  Curly 
O'Coole  than  lots  of  the  fellows  out  here  ? 
Betty  could  have  had  him.  Betty  could 
have  had  almost  any  fellow  out  here  instid 
of  that  old  lummix  that  she  did  marry.  You 
heard  about  Job  havin'  seven  devils  cast 
out  of  him  ?  Well,  I  reckon  he's  got  seven 
others  left.  Ma,  she  says  now  she  thinks 
it's  almost  a  sin  to  marry  off  your  girls  so 
young,  she  ain't  never  goin'  to  do  it  any 
more.  She's  goin'  to  let  Lympy  an'  Halle- 
lujah have  their  pick. 

291 


Windy  Creek 

"  Folks  thinks  it's  awful  queer  you  Wood 
girls  don't  never  git  married;  but  I  think 
you're  jist  about  right;  you're  a  heap  bet- 
ter off  single,"  said  Rose  Rooney,  with  her 
narrow  gaze. 

A  pair  of  shoes  standing  in  an  out-of-the- 
way  corner  caught  Mrs.  Rooney's  eye. 
She  instantly  tried  them  on,  and  wore  them 
all  the  afternoon,  triumphant  over  having 
at  last  discovered  the  size  of  Hermia's  shoe. 

With  the  summons  to  dinner.  Rose 
Rooney's  outspoken  discontent  was 
checked  for  a  time.  The  children  had  dis- 
covered a  pair  of  dumb-bells,  and  were  roll- 
ing them  about  with  a  fearful  clatter;  the 
general  clamor  was  rivalled  by  a  display  of 
table-manners  exceeding  anything  pre- 
viously witnessed  by  the  Wood  cousins  in 
their  experience  of  Rose  Rooney  and  her 
family. 

Taddy  looked  across  the  dinner-table 
with  a  sigh  of  approval,  and  spoke  his  hon- 
est convictions  when  he  said :  "  Ruth  an' 
Hermia's  all  right !  they's  daisies !  " 

Rose's  roving  eye  made  a  critical  survey 
of  the  dinner-table.  She  informed  her 
292 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

hostesses  that  she  did  not  like  warm  apple- 
sauce; she  could  not  eat  it  unless  it  was 
cold.  She  tasted  her  tea  and  made  a  wry 
face. 

"  What  kind  of  tea  is  this,  Ruth?  " 

"  Young  Hyson.'' 

Mrs.  Rooney  stirred  viciously.  "  Well, 
I  don't  like  it  a  bit ;  it's  awful  bitter." 

Jimmy  swallowed  a  trial  teaspoonful. 
"  Gosh !  "  said  he,  "  this  tea's  bitter." 

"  Ain't  you  'shamed  to  talk  that  way  at 
the  table  ? "  cried  his  mother,  while  she 
chuckled  at  his  smartness. 

"  Ruth,  give  them  young-uns  some  milk 
to  drink;  I  don't  never  let  my  children 
drink  strong  tea." 

"Did  your  ma  make  this  butter?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Rooney,  spreading  her  bread 
thickly.  "  It  tastes  awful  funny.  It  tastes 
like  the  churn  hadn't  been  scalded  out. 
You  have  to  be  awful  pettic'ler  when  you 
make  butter,  you  know." 

Ruth  and  Hermia  simultaneously  regis- 
tered a  silent  vow  never,  never,  never  again 
to  break  bread  under  Rose  Rooney's  roof. 

Their  guest  pushed  back  her  dish  of 
cottage-cheese. 

293 


Windy  Creek 

"  Why,  Hermia,  this  smear-case  is  so 
sloppy !  You  ain't  squeezed  half  the  whey 
out.  I  can't  never  eat  smear-case  unless 
it's  real  dry. 

"Jake  an'  Cicely  Atwood,  they're  awful 
poor,  they  about  live  on  smear-case.  They 
don't  have  half  enough  to  eat.  Onc't  I  was 
over  there,  an'  Cicely,  she  set  Jake  down  to 
the  table  to  smear-case  an'  almost  nothin'. 
He  set  there  over  fifteen  minutes  mincin' 
over  a  little  water  gravy." 

"  I  could  eat  a  thousand  pieces  of  cake," 
said  Jimmy,  helping  himself  liberally. 

"  What  are  them  little  sticks  fur  ?  "  point- 
ing with  his  finger  to  some  tooth-picks. 
When  Ruth  had  enlightened  him,  he  re- 
marked :  "  I'd  like  to  have  some  of  them 
tooth-picks.  I'd  take  them  home  an'  pick 
till  I  died." 

Rose's  ill-humor  infected  the  children. 

"  That's  my  knife  you're  eatin'  with,"  said 
Jimmy,  and  forthwith  snatched  it  from  his 
brother. 

"  You  div  that  knife  here ! "  whined 
Taddy. 

"  It's  mine,  an'  I'm  a-goin'  ter  eat  with 

it." 

294 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

Their  mother  spoke  sharply  from  across 
the  table : 

"  You  give  that  knife  back !  Ain't  you 
'shamed  to  act  like  that  in  comp'ny  ?  " 

"  That's  jest  like  a  woman  to  talk  that 
way ! "  The  baby  voice  vibrated  with 
scorn. 

Mrs.  Rooney  half  rose.  "  Jimmy  Roo- 
ney,  do  you  want  me  to  come  there  to 
you?" 

In  dreadful  anger  the  boy  thrust  the 
knife  to  his  brother.  "  Dog-gone  you !  "  he 
said,  his  tone  more  than  his  words  betray- 
ing his  passion. 

Rose  Rooney  ate  heartily  of  every  dish. 
She  pushed  back  her  chair,  finally,  and 
swept  the  crumbs  from  her  lap  to  the  floor. 

"  Say,  did  you  hear  that  Jake  an'  Cicely 
Atwood  has  both  back-slid  from  the  United 
Brethrens  ?  Jake  swears  an'  they  both  goes 
to  dances. 

"  Did  you  ever  read  that  book,  '  From 
the  Ball-room  to  Hell '  ?  Mis'  Mellon,  she 
lent  it  to  me.  It's  jist  splendid.  It's  got  a 
picture  of  the  Old  Harry  in  it." 

Rose's  speech  was  arrested  by  a  commo- 
295 


Windy  Creek 

tion  at  the  door.  It  was  Cicely  Atwood, 
who  had  run  across  the  road  for  a  neigh- 
borly call  with  her  baby  in  her  arms  and 
two  shepherd  dogs  at  her  heels.  The  bright 
smile  on  her  face  faded  as  her  placid  gaze 
came  into  sharp  contact  with  Rose  Rooney 
in  a  sea  of  carpet-rags.  They  were  not  on 
speaking  terms.  Cicely  sat  stiffly  on  the 
edge  of  a  chair,  refusing  all  persuasion  to 
lay  aside  her  sun-bonnet.  Mrs.  Rooney 
silently  stitched,  with  tightly  closed  lips  and 
flashing  eyes. 

Cicely  Atwood's  observing  faculties  were 
not  behind  the  ordinary  country  girl's,  but 
a  morning  spent  at  her  mother's  had  ren- 
dered her  unconscious  of  Mrs.  Rooney's 
movements,  and  she  had  blundered  in  on 
her  enemy  unawares. 

Since  her  marriage  Cicely  Atwood  had 
fulfilled  the  early  predictions  of  Rose  Roo- 
ney. She  was  "  frowsy  headed,"  her  dress 
was  untidy  and  gaping  and  buttonless ;  pins 
were  used  freely  in  her  toilet.  Her  infant 
son,  a  thin,  sallow  child,  with  a  pale-blue 
eye  and  senile  leer,  was  not  over-clean,  and 
contrasted  but  poorly  with  Mrs.  Rooney's 
296 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

plump,  fresh-colored  children.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  hideous  little  garment  of  snuff- 
colored  outing-flannel. 

Hermia  drew  her  embarrassed  neighbor 
into  talking  of  her  baby,  and  remarked  that 
he  looked  pale. 

The  mother  glanced  thoughtfully  at  her 
offspring.  "  That  dress  is  kind  o'  delicate, 
an'  I  reckon  that's  why  he  looks  so  white," 
she  said,  in  her  flat,  nasal  tones.  "  He's 
light  complected,  anyway,  like  his  paw. 
He's  fussin'  with  his  teeth  now ;  they  eetch 
so.  He's  lookin'  lots  pearter  than  what  he 
done  awhiles  back.  He  were  pulin'  away 
like,  an'  maw,  she  said  he  were  kind  o' 
wormy.  I  were  dretful  sceert  about  him. 
A  child  has  to  be  'lowanced  by  its  mother ; 
if  it  ain't  put  on  a  di-at,  it's  li'ble  to  hurt 
itself. 

"  I  were  home  a-visitin'  with  Shaky  this 
mornin',  an'  when  we  went  it  were  milkin' 
yit,  it  were  that  yurly.  I  do  enjoy  goin' 
home;  I  like  to  milk  with  paw,  it  'minds 
me  of  when  I  were  a  girl  at  home. 

"  Did  you  ever  take  notice  of  the  sight " 
(pupils)  "  of  Shaky's  eyes,  how  large  they 
297 


Windy  Creek 

is?  Sometimes  I'm  afeared  they're  too 
large  to  be  healthy.  I  don't  want  Shaky 
to  have  nothin'  the  matter  of  his  eyes. 
Shaky's  forehead  is  so  large.  I  want  to 
have  his  head  examined  by  one  of  theesyur 
friendologists." 

Rose  Rooney  sniffed  audibly. 

"  I  an'  Jake  aim  to  give  Shaky  a  college 
education." 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  Shaky  ?  "  asked 
Hermia. 

"  Why,  we  call  him  fur  a  man  named 
Shakespeare.  The  people  that  Jake  used 
to  be  coachman  to  in  the  Springs  was  alius 
talkin'  about  a  man  named  Shakespeare 
that  were  dretful  smart,  an'  Jake,  he  hearn 
so  much  about  the  man  that  he  had  to  call 
our  little  one  fur  him. 

"  I  an'  Jake  lay  off  to  build  a  addition  to 
our  house  this  fall." 

Rose  Rooney  laughed  derisively. 

Cicely  Atwood,  laboriously  ignoring  her 
enemy,  continued:  "Jake  lays  oflf  to  haul 
the  lumber  from  the  Divide  an'  put  up  a 
lean-to,  an'  a  portecule  for  cucumber  vines, 
next  Spring. 

298 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

"  Have  you  girls  hearn  about  the  people 
on  the  Divide  ?  Jake  he  were  hauHn'  fuel ; 
he  gits  cedar  along  the  aidge  of  the  Divide, 
north-like  of  hyur,  an'  some  campers-out 
tolt  him ;  that's  the  way  he  come  to  hyur  of 
It.  All  the  people  on  the  Divide  is  lookin' 
fur  the  world  to  come  to  an  eend.  It  was  in 
the  papers  that  the  Red  Sea  had  been 
blowed  out  by  a  cyclone,  an'  you  know  it 
says  in  the  Bible,  when  the  Red  Sea  shall 
be  dried  up,  then  the  world  shall  come  to  an 
eend.  The  preachers  is  preachin',  an' 
they've  got  the  people  all  worked  up  like 
over  it. 

*'  Well,  I  must  be  goin',"  said  Cicely, 
edging  oflf  her  chair.  "  Have  you-uns  got 
a  piece  of  cloth  to  trim  a  hat  with?  Any 
kind  of  cloth'll  do,  if  it's  worsted.  I'm 
a-goin'  to  cover  the  frame  of  my  old  hat  fur 
winter;  it's  all  wore  out.  That  piece  of 
striped  goods  will  do.    Thanky." 

"  World  comin'  to  an  end  nothin',"  cried 
Ros^  Rooney,  bursting  from  the  strain  of 
her  difficult  silence,  as  Cicely's  receding 
form  left  the  door.  "  The  people  that  lives 
over  on  the  Divide  is  awful  easy  took  in — 
299 


Windy  Creek 

no  cyclone  is  goin'  to  be  big  enough  to 
blow  out  a  whole  sea ! 

"  There's  a  woman  that's  awful  slack," 
she  went  on,  loudly.  "  What'd  I  tell  you 
girls  about  Cicely  Atwood's  housekeepin' 
when  she  come  to  git  married?  You've 
only  got  to  peek  in  her  house  onc't  to  jedge 
of  her;  she's  a  awful  poor  housekeeper. 
How  Jake  Atwood  puts  up  with  her  is  more 
than  I  can  see.  She  never  ast  me  into 
her  house ;  I  wouldn't  go  if  she  did,  but  I 
peeked  in  onc't  when  she  was  out.  My 
land!  The  floor  all  over  grease-spots,  an' 
the  bed  not  made,  an'  it  afternoon,  an'  the 
table  a  heap  of  dirty  dishes  an'  vittles,  an*" 
that  baby  of  hern  settin'  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  its  face  an'  hair  an'  clo'es  as  black  as 
ink.  I  went  right  over  an'  told  ma  about 
it,  an'  Em,  an'  Mort  Post's  wife.  Cicely, 
she  acts  like  she  done  somethin'  smart  to 
git  married.  I  never  see  a  woman  to  be  so 
puffed  up  about  gittin'  married  in  all  my 
borned  days.  What  she  c'n  see  to  be  proud 
over  in  that  there  soft-soapy  Jake  of  hern 
I  can't  see.  An'  that  young-un  of  theirn  is 
bound  for  the  Pen,  'stid  of  college.  Did  ye 
300 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

ever  see  the  Evil  Eye  plainer  in  a  child? 
When  that  youngun  smiles  it  makes  a  cold 
shiver  creep  up  'n'  down  my  backbone  to 
see  him. 

"  It's  jist  wonderful,"  said  the  critic,  pat- 
ronizingly, "  how  the  folks  has  improved 
out  here  on  Windy  Creek.  Now,  look  at 
them  Bunts;  when  they  first  come  to  this 
country  they  was  awful  ignorant,  but  now 
they  do  know  a  little.  The  boys  is  turnin' 
out  real  stiddy.  I  ain't  nothin'  agin  the 
men-folks,  nor  Polly.  But  Fm  leary  of  old 
lady  Bunt,  an'  Cicely,  with  the  airs  she  gives 
herself." 

The  rampant  tongue  ran  on  and  on.  The 
gentle  hostesses,  long  since  wearied  of  their 
visitor,  saw  no  other  way  to  rid  themselves 
of  her  than  by  a  freezing  process,  and  about 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  Rose  Rooney 
gathered  up  her  brood  and  went  home,  the 
picture  of  discontent. 

Often  in  the  morning,  when  Pete  was  at 
work  beyond  the  crest  of  the  hill,  a  horse- 
man lingered  beside  his  cabin,  lounging 
with  slackened  rein,  and  one  leg  thrown 
over  the  horn  of  the  saddle,  while  within 
301 


Windy  Creek 

the  fence  Rose  dawdled,  arms  bared  to  the 
elbow,  cheeks  burned  to  a  rich  red ;  the  two 
lost  in  a  maze  of  empty,  endless  talk. 

And  often  in  the  evening  the  idle  talk 
renewed  itself  at  the  kitchen  door,  when 
the  young  ranchman  stopped  for  a  drink  of 
water,  supplied  him  in  a  brimming  tin  cup 
from  Rose's  hand.  The  younger  children 
hung  about,  open-mouthed;  but  Jimmy, 
sharp  of  eye  and  ear,  treasured  much  for 
absent  Daddy's  sake,  and  peace  fled  away 
from  the  home  when  Pete  came  in  to  find 
the  stove  cold,  and  the  children  fretting  and 
Rose  dreaming  at  a  window. 

And  often  of  a  Sabbath  night  the  two 
walked  home  from  meeting  together.  They 
loitered  on  their  way;  now  in  whispered 
tones  they  talked,  though  the  prairie  road 
was  lonely.  There  was  a  witchery  in  the 
strong  moonlight,  in  the  odorous  night-air. 
The  frogs'  hoarse  cadence  seemed  calling 
them  to  stay;  a  night-bird,  whizzing  past, 
brushed  their  mingled  hair  with  its  wing; 
the  hour,  the  place,  the  stolen  caress,  dulled 
sense  of  duty,  blotted  out  distinction  be- 
twixt right  and  wrong. 
302 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

From  her  seat  in  the  bedroom,  one  even- 
ing, Rose,  crooning  to  her  infant,  could  see 
her  husband,  stiff  and  torpid  from  a  long 
day's  work,  in  a  chill  east  wind,  nodding 
over  the  fire.  Between  her  clenched  teeth 
she  sang;  and  the  smouldering  embers  of 
her  discontent  burst  into  flames  of  loathing 
for  the  rough,  red  laborer  whom  her  mother 
had  imposed  upon  her  while  she  was  yet  a 
child,  too  young  to  choose  for  herself.  She 
felt  that  she  hated  this  man,  whom  Bertie 
Brown  had  called  a  *'  blooming  chump." 

Rose  Rooney  tucked  the  baby  in  her  little 
crib,  scolded  and  hustled  the  older  children, 
and  came  into  the  kitchen,  with  hostility  in 
her  eye.  She  flourished  a  pamphlet  in  his 
face. 

"  Look  at  this,  now!  Here's  a  book  Mis' 
Mellon  give  me  to  read.  Look  at  it,  can't 
you,  'stid  of  settin'  there  blinkin'!  I  never 
see  sech  a  dumb-head  to  set  around  an' 
sleep  nights.  It's  a  book  wrote  about  your 
tony  Catholics,  an'  it's  a  dead  give-a-way  on 
them;  it  tells  all  about  how  they  cheat  folks 
out  of  their  rights,  an'  how  they  take  the 
bread  out  of  poor  folks's  mouths  like  us,  to 
303 


Windy  Creek 

build  their  fine  churches  with.  Jest  you 
read  that  now,  an'  drop  your  old  Catholics!  " 

Pete  gave  a  grunt  and  pushed  the  book 
aside.  It  fell  to  the  floor.  "  Catholicism 
Exposed  "  was  printed  in  glaring  letters  on 
the  cover. 

Rose  stopped  to  pick  up  the  book.  Her 
impish  mood  possessed  her  to  spell  out  to 
the  unwilling  ears  of  her  husband,  phrase 
after  phrase  of  libelous  thrusts  at  his  relig- 
ion. At  the  time  of  her  marriage  Rose  had 
not  known  one  letter  from  another.  In 
picking  up  "  a  little  larning  "  since,  it  had 
proved  "  a  dangerous  thing." 

She  had  no  conception  of  being  herself  a 
trial  to  him ;  she  did  not  see  the  cloud  on  his 
averted  face,  else  she  might  have  refrained 
from  teasing  his  mood.  As  she  stumbled 
on  over  the  long  words,  the  tawdry  argu- 
ment, the  denunciations,  Pete's  patience  left 
him,  the  tempest  of  his  wrath  gathered  and 
broke,  and  he  swept  the  book  from  his  wife's 
grasp  into  the  fire. 

Rose's  face  blazed — in  a  flash  the  flat  of 
her  hand  dealt  a  furious  blow  across  her 
husband's  cheek.  She  had  roused  his  fury; 
304 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

he  seized  her  by  the  wrists  and  forced  her 
into  a  chair;  shook  her;  and  in  deep  tones 
of  wrath  bade  her  let  him  and  his  religion 
alone  in  the  future,  and  to  keep  her  Come- 
outers  to  herself — there  would  be  the  mis- 
chief to  pay  if  them  or  their  books  ever 
found  their  way  into  his  house  again.  Then 
he  left  the  room,  banging  the  door  behind 
him. 

The  angry  woman  screamed  after  her 
husband  until  she  was  hoarse,  and  followed 
up  her  outburst  of  foul  language  with  wild, 
hysterical  sobbing  that  lasted  half  the  night. 
The  children  crept  quietly  out  of  her  way, 
and  presently  put  themselves  to  bed. 

The  next  Sunday,  in  meeting,  his  wife's 
testimonials  did  serious  damage  to  Pete's 
already  defamed  character;  his  reputation 
as  a  wife-beater  was  established,  and  all  the 
Come-outers  gave  freely  of  sympathy  and 
advice  to  the  unfortunate  consort  of  a  des- 
perately hardened  villain. 

In  the  school-yard,  after  meeting,  Mrs. 
Bunt  was  overheard  by  a  pair  of  sharp  ears 
belonging  to  Olympia  Flieger,  freeing  her 
mind  to  a  knot  of  women,  as  follows : 
305 


Windy  Creek 

"  Pete,  he  over-doos  it ;  he  ain't  got  no 
call  to  put  up  with  her  didos  the  way  he  do ; 
he'd  ought  to  put  a  stop  to  her  runnin'  with 
them  Come-outers,  an'  gittin'  up  in  meetin' 
an'  callin'  him  names.  She  ain't  a  decent 
woman  to  live  with,  Rose  ain't,  an'  she 
knows  it.  She  runs  down  everybody  alike 
that  doesn't  please  her,  same  as  she  runs 
Pete  down.  Her  young-uns  is  gittin'  too 
smart  fur  her,  hyur  lately,  an'  thur  agoin' 
to  give  her  clean  away  one  of  these  days. 
Know  why  she  drives  Jimmy  out  to  chop 
wood  when  she  has  comp'ny  ?  She's  afeard 
he'll  let  out  some  of  the  things  she's  been 
a-sayin'  about  them,  an'  shame  her.  Rose 
is." 

The  drift  of  these  remarks,  with  varia- 
tions, was  promptly  carried  to  headquar- 
ters. Rose  Rooney  was  furious.  When  on 
the  point  of  rushing  at  once  to  have  it  out 
with  Mrs.  Bunt,  she  changed  her  mind  and 
laboriously  wrote  her  neighbor  a  scathing 
note;  this  she  despatched  by  Jimmy,  with 
instructions  to  watch  the  effect;  and 
whipped  the  children  all  around  to  relieve 
her  excitement. 

306 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

While  the  little  messenger  impishly  lin- 
gered, Mrs.  Bunt,  with  Polly  hanging  over 
her  shoulder,  read  the  note ;  her  indignation 
rose  at  every  line.  And  Jimmy's  mother, 
after  putting  him  to  the  test  of  a  rigid 
cross-examination,  rested  satisfied  that  the 
phrases :  "  You  said  I  wasn't  a  decent 
woman,"  and  "  By  the  Lord,  I'll  have  you 
pulled  for  it,"  were  more  cuttingly  efficient 
written  than  if  screamed  in  her  enemy's  ear. 

As  Pete  came  home  from  the  field  the 
Wednesday  following,  and  his  children  ran 
to  meet  him,  he  caught  sight  of  a  tall  figure 
in  sombrero  and  leathern  breeches,  dodging 
off  among  the  out-buildings.  It  was  the 
manner  of  his  going  that  roused  into  action 
the  latent  fury  long  nurtured  in  the  injured 
husband's  breast,  and  he  flung  the  children 
from  him,  in  passing  snatched  a  cow-hide ' 
from  its  nail  on  the  shed-door,  at  the  foot 
of  the  slope  behind  the  log-stable  stopped 
his  enemy,  and  grappled  with  him.  The 
loud  singing  of  Rose  Rooney  in  the  house 
above  them  sounded  in  their  ears. 

Taken  by  surprise,  the  young  ranchman 
struck  out  with  his  fists ;  he  had  no  time  to 
307 


Windy  Creek 

draw  his  revolver,  but,  though  tall  and  ath- 
letic and  inured  to  the  rough  life  of  the 
plains,  he  was  shortly  overcome,  pinned  to 
the  earth,  impotent  in  an  iron  grip,  and  the 
weapon  fell  like  a  flail  over  face,  head,  and 
shoulders,  with  an  almost  murderous  fury. 

Jimmy  stood  quiet  on  the  crest  of  the 
hill,  aghast,  but  sure  that  daddy  was  in  the 
right.  But  the  younger  boy  ran,  scream- 
ing, to  the  house,  stumbling  and  falling,  yet 
never  varying  the  pitch  of  his  scream,  and 
Rose,  drawn  by  his  noise,  came  to  the 
kitchen  door,  dish-towel  in  hand. 

Strange,  significant  sounds,  thuds  and 
muffled  cries  struck  her  keen  ear,  and  at 
once  cleared  her  perception.  She  darted 
down  the  hill  in  flying  leaps,  and,  tiger-like, 
flung  herself  on  Pete's  avenging  arm.  Her 
husband  cast  aside  his  bloody  whip,  spurned 
the  writhing  figure  on  the  ground,  and 
bade  him  begone.  Dusty,  bleeding,  the 
boy  rose  and  fell;  rose  and  fell  again;  he 
cast  upon  Pete  a  look  of  unquenchable  de- 
fiance and  limped  away,  cursing  them  both, 
under  his  breath. 

Rose  Rooney  stood  with  breast  heaving 
308 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

and  nostrils  dilated  as  if  from  hard  run- 
ning ;  her  color  was  livid,  her  lips  purple ; 
the  blue  blaze  of  her  eyes  was  like  the  play 
of  lightning  over  her  face;  a  moment  she 
stood  so,  without  speech  or  tears,  then 
turned  and  fled  up  the  hill. 

When  Pete  went  into  the  house,  a  little 
later,  the  baby's  crib  was  empty,  Mark's 
house  of  blocks  deserted;  Rose  was  gone. 
Taddy,  crying  softly  on  the  door-step, 
could  only  tell  him  that  Rose  had  went  off 
with  Marky  and  the  baby ;  she  tooked  them 
in  the  little  wagon.  Pete  looked  out 
through  the  gathering  dusk;  far  down  the 
road  he  could  see  the  woman's  figure,  trail- 
ing after  her  the  little  wagon;  her  course 
lay  in  the  direction  of  her  mother's  house. 

Two  little  figures,  hand  in  hand,  next 
morning,  startled  Mrs.  Bunt,  shaking  the 
breakfast-cloth  at  the  back  door.  They 
were  Jimmy  and  Taddy. 

"  Well,  Rose  has  left  again,"  said  Jimmy, 
smiling  blandly. 

Mrs.  Bunt  thrust  her  head  in  at  the  door. 
"  Polly,  you  come  right  out  hyur !  Rose 
Rooney  has  gone  and  left  agin !  You  poor 
309 


Windy  Creek 

little  toads,  whatever  will  you  do  without 
your  maw  ?" 

"  Oh,  we're  all  right,"  rejoined  Jimmy, 
swelling  with  the  importance  of  his  position. 
"  Pete  an'  us  has  lots  of  fun.  I  come  to 
borry  some  soda.  Pete's  goin'  to  make 
biscuit." 

Mrs.  Bunt  gazed  down  at  the  little  boys, 
with  her  arms  akimbo.  "  Ain't  you  'shamed 
to  talk  about  your  maw  that-a-way  ?" 

"  No.  We  don't  like  her,  no-way.  We 
don't  want  her  back." 

"  Taddy,  ain't  you  sorry  your  maw's  gone 
off  an'  left  you?" 

"  No,"  said  Taddy,  pugnaciously.  "  Me 
don't  like  Wose ;  me  likes  Pete." 

Mrs.  Bunt  and  her  daughter  drew  from 
the  children  a  disconnected  and  somewhat 
incoherent  account  of  the  events  of  the  day 
before,  thirsting  especially  after  the  details 
of  the  battle. 

"  Polly,"  said  Mrs.  Bunt,  tying  on  her 
bonnet,  "you  give  them  children  their 
sody  an'  send  them  home;  thur  paw'll  be 
after  them.  An'  'tend  to  the  work  an'  feed 
the  chickens.  I  must  go  right  over  an'  tell 
310 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

Cic'Iy  the  noes,  an'  mebbe  111  stop  to  the 
Wood  girls'  if  thur  up.'* 

While  her  children  were  spreading  abroad 
the  fame  of  her  flight,  Rose  Rooney  had  al- 
ready left  the  shelter  of  her  mother's  home, 
and  was  striding  across  the  prairie,  in  bold 
defiance  of  Mother  Grundy.  She  crossed 
one  field,  and  then  another.  Mr.  Bunt 
passed  along  the  road,  hauling  a  load  of 
potatoes  to  the  city;  she  saw  him  pull  up 
his  slow-stepping  horses  to  take  a  look  at 
her.  "  Rubber-neck !"  said  she,  angrily. 
She  crawled  under  the  wire  fences  and  filled 
her  shoes  with  sand  and  her  stockings  with 
needle-grass  barbs;  but  she  forged  ahead, 
preferring  the  prairie  to  the  public  road. 
Driven  on  by  headlong  passion  and  impe- 
rious will,  she  hurried  up  the  path  to  Ber- 
tie Brown's  shack.  She  tried  the  latch; 
it  was  fast.  She  shook  the  door  until  the 
casement  rattled ;  she  peered  in  at  the  win- 
dow; the  room  was  empty.  She  sought 
him  in  the  stackyard;  she  gazed  up  and 
down  the  cornfield.  Back  at  the  doorstep, 
with  a  loud  sob,  she  shook  again  the  resist- 
ing latch.  His  pet  cat  rubbed  against  her 
3" 


Windy  Creek 

ankles,  purring  loudly.  She  sat  down  and 
waited,  long  and  patiently ;  sometimes  cry- 
ing, sometimes  musing,  often  springing  up 
to  gaze,  with  shaded  eyes,  out  across  the 
prairie. 

While  Rose  waited  on  the  step,  a  proces- 
sion was  wending  its  way  into  the  Springs ; 
the  sheriff,  with  a  young  fellow  in  custody, 
and  a  posse  of  officers  on  horse-back;  a 
warrant  in  his  possession  for  the  arrest  of 
one  Bertie  Brown,  charged  with  the  crime 
of  cattle-stealing. 

Livid  marks  of  last  night's  beating  dis- 
figured the  prisoner's  face.  His  smart, 
cow-boy  toggery  was  rent  and  dusty  from  a 
recent  struggle.  But  changed  for  the  worse 
as  was  his  outward  appearance,  sadder  still 
were  the  signs  of  his  moral  degradation, 
the  slouch  of  the  figure,  the  hanging  head, 
the  lowering  air.  A  trial  and  a  term  in  the 
penitentiary  awaited  him,  and  Bertie  Brown 
was  seen  on  Windy  Creek  no  more.  As 
one  after  another,  the  owners  came  to  re- 
claim their  cattle,  his  herd  was  scattered, 
and  his  abandoned  claim  lay  idle. 

A  violent  squabble  with  her  mother,  oc- 
312 


Rose  Rooney's  Error 

casioned  by  a  broad  hint  that  herself  and  her 
children  were  found  burdensome,  decided 
Rose  Rooney  to  return  home.  She  came 
as  she  had  gone,  hauling  her  two  young 
children  in  their  little  wagon. 

The  husband  showed  in  his  reception  of 
his  erring  wife  a  tact  and  forbearance  sur- 
passed by  few  in  his  position.  His  kindness 
was  negative;  for  long  ago  caresses  and 
love-words  had  ceased  between  them.  But 
he  met  the  baffled  and  rebellious  woman  as 
if  she  had  merely  been  away  on  a  visit ;  he 
spoke  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  of  the 
speckled  heifer  falling  off  in  her  milk,  and 
of  Taddy's  needing  a  pair  of  shoes  for  the 
colder  weather.  He  had  nothing  to  say  of 
her  past  conduct,  nor  di4  he  throw  up  to 
her  the  name  of  the  man  who  had  tampered 
with  his  poor  home,  and  so  nearly  destroyed 
it. 

Childish  though  it  was,  her  heart  had 
been  capable  of  a  woman's  grief;  touched 
but  once,  it  must  now  turn  back  upon  itself. 
She  had  learned  to  regard  her  husband  with 
loathing;  she  must  unlearn  that  notion  of 
him;  it  was  hard  for  eyes  that  had  once 
313 


Windy  Creek 

been  opened  to  criticism,  to  forget  what 
they  had  seemed  to  see.  She  was  very 
ignorant.  She  did  not  know  enough  to 
make  teachers  of  her  mistakes.  As  for  look- 
ing to  her  reHgion  to  console  her,  let  him 
who  will,  try  the  hardening  effect  of  falling 
from  grace  after  a  sojourn  on  the  heights 
of  sanctification ;  and  experience  the  inevita- 
ble result  of  shame  and  disgust  at  having 
been  duped.  The  trials  of  the  past  few 
months  had  had  anything  but  a  salutary 
effect  on  Rose  Rooney's  tempestuous  nat- 
ure; she  was  the  worse  rather  than  the 
better  for  her  sufferings;  she  took  up  her 
old  life  again,  but  took  it  hard. 


314 


XI 

DIANTHA 

One  of  the  gayest  and  best  attended 
dances  in  the  country-side  came  off  at  Dan 
Bittern's  on  the  Tuesday  night  following 
the  great  Come-outer  meeting.  The  young 
people  appeared  in  full  force,  and  a  number 
of  Free  Methodist  and  United  Brethren 
backsliders,  incited  by  a  fiddle,  slid  back 
to  earth  on  an  unplaned  floor.  Diantha 
seemed  the  most  blithesome  in  the  com- 
pany ;  her  face  glowed  with  color,  her  trip- 
ping feet  were  never  still. 

From  the  circle  of  her  old  flames  Raleigh 
Post  had  long  ago  withdrawn  to  be  ab- 
sorbed by  a  little  dumpy  girl  in  a  short 
frock,  buttoned  in  the  back;  Hal  Hopper 
hung  open-mouthed  upon  Estelle*s  every 
look  and  laugh;  but  still  faithful,  with  his 
gaze  of  honest  admiration,  Phil  Schuyler 
3^5 


Windy  Creek 

hovered  near,  though  too  slow,  too  cautious 
to  be  counted  as  a  lover. 

Of  partners  she  had  plenty,  for  as  it  is 
with  love  or  money,  so  with  dancing:  part- 
ners beget  partners.  But  Diantha's  heart 
was  sinking.  Not  once  since  his  brief 
greeting  at  the  door  had  Soph  Crimp  come 
near  her. 

As  each  time  the  music  started  up  and 
set  her  heart  to  beating,  she  saw  him  ap- 
proach some  other  girl  with  his  set  phrase, 
"  Will  you  assist  me  in  this  dance  ?"  And 
oftenest  it  was  the  girl  from  Arrowhead,  the 
new  girl  who  had  such  a  flip  way  of  batting 
her  eyes  at  the  boys. 

She  wasn't  a  bit  pretty — what  could  he 
see  in  her?  Fear  spurred  Diantha's  flag- 
ging spirits — fear  lest  Soph's  public  neglect 
of  her  should  be  remarked. 

Her  natural  coquetry,  an  unconscious 
spirit  often,  but  ever  alive  in  her,  was  to- 
night a  means  of  defence,  and  the  melting 
glances  from  her  beautiful  eyes,  half  be- 
witching her  partners,  were  but  a  mask  for 
her  uneasy  thoughts  strayed  off  to  another. 

She  was  practising  the  deception  learned 
316 


Diantha 

early  by  every  woman;  and  as  she  danced 
she  saw  but  one  figure,  tall,  square-shoul- 
dered, the  most  active  in  the  room.  She 
noted  how  Jiis  blue  tie  matched  his  eyes  in 
color;  it  was  her  gift  to  him;  and  she  re- 
membered how  her  hands  had  shaken  when 
she  tied  it  for  him,  the  first  night  of  his 
wearing  it,  and  how  he  had  smiled  and 
kissed  her  finger-tips. 

There  was  one  among  the  boys  to-night, 
a  silly  fellow,  whose  breath  smelt  strong  of 
spirits ;  and  in  avoiding  him  Diantha  found 
less  time  for  brooding  thoughts. 

Dick  Mace,  commonly  known  as  Peni- 
tentiary Dick,  her  father  designed  for  a  son- 
in-law.  With  the  obtuse  insistence  of  a 
man  of  whiskey-drenched  wits,  he  had  or- 
dered her  attention  to  Dick,  and  Diantha, 
suffering  in  advance  the  penalty  of  her  fa- 
ther's displeasure,  caught  now  and  again 
Dan's  shifting  eye,  saw  him  drinking  not 
so  freely  as  usual,  and  knew  that  she  was 
under  surveillance. 

If  Soph  would  only  treat  her  as  he  used 
to,  there  would  be  no  need  to  keep  out  of 
Dick's  way,  for  then  Dick  would  not  be 
317 


Windy  Creek 

troubling  her.     Did  he  never  mean  to  ask 
her? 

Her  partner  saw  her  to  a  seat  on  the  end 
of  a  bench  already  crowded  by  two  hilarious 
couples,  and  walked  away.  The  music 
changed  to  a  waltz  tune,  "  After  the  Ball." 

When  a  dance  with  Soph  seemed  to  have 
reached  the  unattainable,  Mr.  Crimp's  son 
came  carelessly  up,  and  in  a  masterful  way 
claimed  her  for  the  waltz.  She  who  had 
been  so  spirited  with  other  lovers,  took  the 
offered  arm  with  meekness,  her  heart  beat- 
ing gladly.  For  a  few  brief  moments  she 
floated  around  and  around  the  room  on 
Soph's  strong,  supporting  arm,  her  hand 
clasped  in  his,  his  glance  upon  her ;  she  was 
radiantly  happy;  at  that  moment  of  exal- 
tation minding  the  spying,  commenting 
crowd  no  more  than  a  swarm  of  flies,  caring 
naught  for  scrutiny  or  whispered  slur. 

"  Havin'  a  good  time  to-night,  Di  ?" 

"Oh,  finer 

The  piteous  lie  was  scarcely  spoken  when 
the  music  ceased  and  he  led  her  to  a  seat 
and  left  her,  to  come  near  her  no  more  that 
night. 

318 


Diantha 

At  supper  Soph  and  Miss  Bliss,  the  black- 
eyed  little  school-teacher  from  Arrowhead, 
shared  the  same  plate  and  coffee  cup ;  she 
took  no  pains  to  hide  her  glee;  his  mirth 
was  offensively  loud  and  boisterous,  and 
Diantha,  covertly  listening,  burned  with  an- 
ger and  grief.  At  Phil  Schuyler's  remarks 
she  laughed  at  random;  she  ate  nothing; 
her  coffee-cup  she  sent  twice  to  be  re- 
filled. 

A  quadrille  was  forming;  in  the  one  of 
the  sets  four  were  impatiently  "  ragging ;" 
in  the  other,  three;  the  caller-off  shouted 
for  another  good-looking  couple.  Young 
Schuyler,  with  Diantha  on  his  arm,  stepped 
into  the  vacant  place,  but  was  promptly 
shoved  aside  by  the  missing  couple.  Soph 
Crimp  and  Miss  Bliss  had  lingered  out  of 
doors  for  a  whiff  of  air,  so  they  said,  and 
Soph  added  insult  to  injury  by  the  smiling 
taunt:  "Did  you  ever  get  left?''  and 
everybody  laughed. 

Someone  whispered  that  the  old  bache- 
lor— the  cattleman  was  twenty-seven — was 
trying  to  cut  Soph  out;  and  someone  else 
averred  that  Diantha  was  using  the  old 
519 


Windy  Creek 

bachelor  to  get  Soph  back.  It  was  the 
Valley  of  Humiliation,  and  Diantha  trod  it 
with  dancing  feet  and  weighted  heart. 

The  September  night  was  one  of  the  most 
peaceful  of  the  month.  Overhead  shone 
the  quiet  stars.  Around  lay  the  hills  in 
calm  repose.  A  dark,  low-lying  shadow 
along  the  western  horizon  gave  a  sugges- 
tion of  the  mountain-range.  The  horses 
champed  their  hay  over  the  wagon-beds 
and  one  of  them  pawed  the  earth.  With- 
out, all  was  tranquillity;  within,  unhealthy 
emotion  ran  all  the  gamut  of  triumph, 
pride,  pique,  jealousy,  and  heartache. 

About  five  o^clock  in  the  morning  the 
dancers  wearied  of  the  floor  and  straggled 
home.  Dick  Mace  alone  lingered  after  the 
rest.  Though  maudlin  from  the  effects  of 
the  bad  whiskey  he  had  been  tossing  down 
all  night,  he  heard  sounds  that  sobered  him, 
and  sent  him  home  in  perplexed  meditation, 
revolving  in  his  dull  mind  some  few  startled 
thoughts ;  he  heard  Dan  Bittern's  growl  as 
of  a  wild  beast  penned ;  he  heard  him  curse 
his  child,  and  he  slunk  away  at  the  cruel 
sound  of  the  blows  that  followed. 
320 


Diantha 

The  sun  was  high  overhead  when  Dan 
lay  out  in  the  stable,  sleeping  drunkenly, 
and  Diantha  sat  alone  over  her  untasted 
breakfast,  the  cold  remains  of  last  night's 
feast.  She  sat  unmoved  in  the  midst  of  ap- 
paUing  disorder — beds  and  bedding  heaped 
up  in  the  yard,  and  stove-pipes  knocking 
about  the  door,  the  floor  begrimed  from 
the  pounding  of  many  feet. 

She  leaned  her  pale  head  on  her  hand,  not 
thinking,  but  in  a  sort  of  apathy,  tracing 
and  retracing  by  daylight's  cold  reality  the 
occurrences  of  the  night  before. 

During  the  past  year  a  furor  of  dances 
had  seized  the  community,  and  of  the  fifty 
given,  the  Bittern  sisters  had  missed  not 
one.  In  the  people's  regard  for  them  there 
had  been  a  subtle,  slow-working  change; 
they  were  more  lightly  treated ;  there  was  a 
falling  ofif  in  the  attentions  of  the  young 
men ;  they  were  spoken  of  as  "  flirty  "  and 
"  flip  " ;  even  in  Mrs.  Bunt,  who  had  here- 
tofore taken  a  motherly  interest  in  them, 
there  was  a  certain  hardness  of  manner. 

"Them  ain't  the  stiddy-hearted  girls  I 
took  them  fur,"  Mrs.  Bunt  had  said  of  them. 
321 


Windy  Creek 

"  They  can't  someways  settle  down  and  be 
sensible.  They've  made  thurselves  dirt 
cheap,  bein'  alius  on  the  go.  Let  them 
girls  stay  at  home  stiddier,  an'  thur  pa,  he'd 
be  stiddier. 

"  Thur's  faults  on  both  sides,  now  that's 
what  I  do  say.  Them  girls,  they  ain't  called 
on  to  stay  claired  out  from  home  like  they 
doos,  goin'  to  every  dance  an'  prayer-meet- 
in'  in  the  country.  I  can't  someways  put 
up  with  Dianthy  like  I've  alius  done  afore. 

"  I've  been  a  mother  to  that  girl,  but  I 
ain't  aimin'  to  stew  over  her  no  more.  Long 
in  the  spring,  it  were  jest  at  school  closin', 
Dianthy  she  come  a-cryin'  to  me;  it  were 
the  first  time  she'd  ever  owned  up  to  her 
pa's  didos;  she  said  her  pa  had  drove  her 
out  of  the  house  and  she  were  'feared  of 
him;  she  hadn't  nowhurs  to  go;  an'  she 
begged  to  be  let  stay  with  I  an'  pa.  She 
said  she'd  be  willin'  to  work  in  the  field  to 
arn  her  keep  if  I  an'  pa'd  take  her  in.  I 
spoke  up  reel  sharp  an'  ast  her  what  her 
two  married  sisters  were  fur,  an'  whur  they 
were  at  that  she  couldn't  go  to  them  ?  An' 
I  up  an'  ast  her  why  she  hadn't  looked  out 
322 


Diantha 

fur  herself  an'  got  her  a  home  when  she  had 
the  pick  of  decent  fellers.  I  told  her  she'd 
better  go  along  back  to  her  pa ;  most  likely 
he  didn't  carry  on  as  bad  as  some  folks  said 
he  done,  an'  she  could  hitch  along  with  him 
someways  if  she'd  try.  Oh,  I  were  reel 
sharp  with  her.  I  reckoned  she  needed 
stirrin'  up  like,  an'  I  done  it  fur  her  own 
good.  I  told  her  she'd  thank  me  fur  it  some 
day.  It  riled  me  to  think  of  I  an'  pa  takin' 
Dianthy  in  that  had  kin  of  her  own  to  look 
after  her.  We're  awful  crowded  to  our 
house,  an'  we  ain't  got  no  room  to  spare  fur 
no  outsider ;  an'  I  someways  couldn't  abide 
the  idee  of  bringin'  a  flip  girl  like  Dianthy 
into  the  house  with  my  boys.  Dianthy  'n 
Stelle,  thur  kind  o'  oneasy  comp'ny  fur 
young  boys.  I  don't  someways  feel  right 
when  my  boys  is  off  with  them." 

If  Mrs.  Bunt  and  other  respectable  mid- 
dle-aged women  of  her  stamp  whose  own 
faulty  youth  lies  forgotten  in  the  back- 
ground, could  for  an  instant  witness  the 
sullymg  of  a  girl's  pure  name  by  the  in- 
nuendo so  lightly  thrown  out,  could  for  an 
instant  behold  the  incalculable  damage 
323 


Windy  Creek 

wrought  by  that  meddlesome  member,  the 
tongue,  their  own  would  cease  to  wag,  nor 
would  they,  for  a  time  at  least,  repeat  the 
offence. 

Diantha  puzzled  in  vain  over  the  change. 
She  grieved  at  the  estrangement  of  Mrs. 
Bunt.  Her  sad  thoughts  had  travelled  this 
ground  many  times,  yet  she  had  learnt 
nothing.  There  was  no  one  to  tell  her  that 
by  her  very  efforts  to  regain  her  social 
standing  she  was  cheapening  herself. 

She  imputed  her  loss  of  popularity  to  on- 
coming age.  In  a  pitiful  attempt  to  appear 
juvenile,  she  cut  off  her  hair  and  shortened 
her  skirts ;  and  Estelle  followed  suit.  As  a 
result  of  their  social  decline,  both  Diantha 
and  Estelle  went  out  more  indefatigably 
than  ever.  The  summer  had  been  a  slow 
torture  to  Diantha.  That  Dick  Mace, 
backed  by  her  father,  continually  annoyed 
and  beset  her,  was  the  least  of  her  griefs. 
She  had  long  harbored  a  dread  that  Soph 
was  wearying  of  her.  Long  since  she  had 
felt  his  preference — his  feeling  for  her  had 
never  been  a  passion — cooling,  and  of  late 
he  seemed  to  be  striving  to  unloose  the 
324 


Diantha 

tendrils  of  her  affection  that  had  taken 
such  clinging  hold  on  his  cold  organism, 
that  he  might  throw  them  ruthlessly  to  the 
winds. 

Diantha  did  not  take  this  in ;  she  felt  only 
a  vague  fear  that  Soph  was  going  back  on 
her.     .     .     . 

A  step  sounded  at  the  door.  Diantha 
started,  nervously.  Was  it  Soph,  come, 
too?  But  no.  It  was  Dick  Mace  who 
stepped  in  over  the  stove-pipes  and  stood 
twisting  his  hat  in  his  hands,  regarding  her 
with  a  mixture  of  embarrassment  and  pity 
in  his  dull  gaze,  that  perplexed  her. 

"  I  come  to  tell  you  good-by,  Diantha. 
I'm  goin'  to  my  claim  out  to  Brierly.  .  .  . 
I  ain't  a-goin'  to  plague  you  no  more." 

At  the  Sunday  meeting  fresh  reports  of 
Dan  Bittern's  cruelty  were  circulated. 

Diantha  sat  through  the  sermon  looking 
like  a  wraith ;  when  for  a  day  her  color  left 
her,  its  flight  discovered  the  contour  of  thin 
cheek  and  hollow  eye.  Her  wan  appear- 
ance struck  even  the  careless  Crimp,  who 
indulged  one  or  two  good  stares  and  scarce- 
ly waited  for  the  girl  to  leave  the  school- 
325 


Windy  Creek 

room  door  before  remarking  jocosely  to  his 
son: 

"  Soph,  you'd  ought  to  marry  that  girl ; 
she's  dyin'  fur  love  of  you." 

Several  of  the  neighbors  standing  near 
caught  the  remark  and  lingered  for  the  re- 
ply. 

"  Yes,  I'll  be  likely  to  marry  a  girl  I  don't 
care  to  kiss.  Say,  there,  Lon,  goin'  to  the 
dance  at  Milligan's  ?" 

"  Betchoo  ril  be  thur  to  swing  the  girls," 
was  the  response. 

The  outcome  of  the  father's  lightly  given 
advice  was  a  visit  paid  by  the  son  to  the 
Bittern  homestead.  Soph  meant  at  once, 
and  finally,  to  dispossess  Diantha  of  any 
cherished  idea  that  she  had  a  hold  upon 
him.  He  was  annoyed  that  she  should 
openly  show  herself  wounded  at  any  act  of 
his.  Once  reminded  that  she  had  no  part 
in  his  career,  she  would  alter  her  manner, 
and  the  neighbors,  comprehending  his  po- 
sition, would  respect  his  man's  liberty. 

He  set  off  a  little  before  sunset,  in  his  fa- 
ther's cart;  meaning,  when  he  had  thrown 
the  light  of  his  logic  upon  her  future  path 
326 


Diantha 

and  his  own,  and  shown  the  two  lying  quite 
distinct,  to  take  the  sisters  to  the  evening 
meeting,  for  in  that  primitive  country  it  is 
possible  for  one  seat  to  hold  three,  or  even 
four. 

Diantha  was  not  visible,  so  he  sat  down 
beside  Estelle  on  the  doorstep,  and  put  his 
arm  around  her.  She  resented  his  familiar- 
ity by  slapping  his  hands,  laughing  in  her 
hysterical  manner.  They  spoke  of  the 
dance. 

"  What  made  you  do  that  last  waltz  so 
awkward,  Stelle?" 

"  I  didn't." 

"  You  did,  too." 

"  Well,  if  I  did  'twas  all  along  o'  you. 
You  didn't  look  where  you  was  leadin'  me, 
an'  if  I  fell  over  Mr.  Fairley,  I  'low  'twas 
your  look-out !" 

"  Ha,  ha !  You  did  look  so  funny,  but- 
tin'  into  Claude  Fairley !    Where's  Di  ?  " 

Estelle  jerked  her  head  toward  the  dark- 
ening room. 

"  Come  out  here  an'  speak  to  a  fellow !  " 
said  Soph,  with  a  raised  voice  and  a  wink 
aside. 

327 


Windy  Creek 

There  was  no  reply ;  Estelle  remarked,  as 
she  chewed  a  strand  of  gypsy  hair,  "  She's 
been  awful  glum  since  our  dance." 

"  Say,  there,  Di,  ain't  mad  at  me  'cause 
I  didn't  dance  with  you  all  the  evening,  are 
you?" 

Still  no  answer,  but  a  slight  movement 
betrayed  the  listener  within. 

"  Gosh !"  said  the  sprightly  Soph, 
"  there's  so  many  of  you  girls  out  here  a 
fellow  can't  begin  to  dance  with  you  all. 
You  haven't  no  call  to  go  and  get  mad 
about  it." 

Both  young  people  laughed. 

Their  nonsense  was  presently  interrupt- 
ed by  Diantha's  coming  out  of  her  obscuri- 
ty and  standing  in  the  doorway.  Her  face 
looked  pale,  but  there  was  an  eager  light  in 
her  eyes. 

"  I  reckon  I'll  bring  Dolly  up  out  of  the 
pasture.     Go  with  me,  Soph  ?" 

"  With  the  greatest  of  pleasure,"  respond- 
ed the  youth,  lounging  off  the  step.  The 
two  walked  down  the  path,  the  halter  hang- 
ing from  the  girl's  arm. 

Estelle  watched  them  with  a  face  of  un- 
328 


Diantha 

concern ;  then  went  into  the  house  to  dress 
•for  meeting,  singing,  as  she  combed  her 
hair: 

"  'Tis  religion  that  can  give  » 

Sweetest  pleasure  while  we  live." 

Diantha  walked  by  the  side  of  her  idol, 
neither  knowing  nor  caring  that  he  was 
fashioned  of  the  commonest  clay.  She  had 
an  acute  consciousness  of  the  athletic  figure 
sauntering  by  her  side,  with  self-sufficient 
air.  She  ventured  a  look,  but  the  expres- 
sion about  the  tightened  lips  made  her  heart 
sink.  She  had  seen  Soph  look  like  that  be- 
fore. 

Soph  glanced  curiously  at  the  down-cast 
face,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What's  got  the  matter  with  you,  girl  ?" 
said  he,  pinching  her  cheek.  The  rough 
touch  of  his  hand,  giving  the  faintest  sug- 
gestion of  a  caress,  called  the  red  into  her 
dusky  cheek ;  the  quick  tears  sprang  to  her 
eyes ;  but  these  she  hastily  wiped  away,  for 
the  sight  of  tears  always  irritated  Soph. 

*'  I  haven't  saw  you  so  put  out  over  a  little 
thing  this  long  time.'' 

She  looked  at  him  forlornly. 
329 


Windy  Creek 

"  If  youVe  out  with  me  because  I  wasn't 
your  pardner  at  that  dance  of  yours,  you'll 
have  to  stay  out.  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Di, 
I  ain't  a-going  to  be  tied  to  no  girl's  string, 
and  you  might's  well  know  it  sooner  as 
later." 

Diantha  heard  him  with  meekness.  Some 
hearts,  tamed  by  love,  learn  submission 
even  to  insult  from  their  keepers.  She 
sHpped  her  hand  into  his.  "  It  wasn't  that, 
Soph.  It  made  me  feel  bad  when  you 
didn't  come  and  talk  to  me  .  .  .  and  I 
'lowed  you  didn't  care  enough  about  me  to 
take  me  out  on  the  floor — ^like  you  used  to." 

His  mouth  hardened. 

"  Well,  Di,  I  reckon  you  know  you  ain't 
the  only  girl  in  this  country — there's  others 
that  have  to  be  danced  with  asides  you." 

He  freed  his  hand  from  hers  and  faced 
her,  dogmatically. 

"  Look-a-here,  Di,  you  go  with  the  other 
fellows  and  when  I  want  to  go  with  you  I'll 
let  you  know  it.  Why  didn't  you  dance 
with  Dick  Mace  that  night  and  please  your 
pa?  I  don't  care  how  many  times  you  go 
with  Hopper,  or  Schuyler,  or  any  other  fel- 
330 


Diantha 

low.  And  ril  have  some  fun  with  the  other 
girls  and  take  you  out  now  and  then.  How's 
that,  now?"  asked  Soph,  in  a  glow  of  self- 
approval. 

Diantha,  cruelly  cut,  yet  proud  enough  to 
conceal  her  pain,  drew  back  and  turned 
away,  trying  to  steady  her  quivering  lips. 
They  were  down  by  the  edge  of  the  corn- 
patch.  The  corn  was  shocked,  ready  for 
husking.  Dolly  was  grazing  at  a  little 
distance. 

"  Then  folks'll  know  how  we  stand,"  con- 
tinued Soph. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  feel  you're  tied  to 
me  like,"  said  Diantha,  desperately.  "  You 
didn't  use  to  feel  that  way.  .  .  .  Oh, 
don't  you  mind.  Soph,  what  you  said  last 
winter  .  .  .  when  we  was  to  the  dance 
at  Post's  ?  "  hanging  her  head.  "  You  said 
you  was  proud  to  dance  with  me  .  .  . 
you  said  I  was  pretty." 

Soph  looked  into  the  wistful  face;  he 
laughed  shortly. 

"  Well,  I  like  that ;  you  want  me  to  say 
you're  pretty  now.    You'd  ought  to  know 
I  won't  say  nothin'  of  the  kind  when  you 
come  at  me  like  that." 
331 


Windy  Creek 

Her  eyes  dropped  in  her  shame;  her 
cheeks  flamed  and  tingled  painfully.  She 
had  thirsted  for  his  old  words  of  praise — 
they  had  been  refused  her  in  scorn.  She 
would  have  given  her  life  for  the  assurance 
that  he  loved  her;  but  he  would  not  say 
the  words — he  would  never  say  them  again ! 
Oh,  the  anguish  of  love  withdrawn !  Noth- 
ing can  surpass  the  bitterness  that  fills  a 
woman's  breast  when  dethroned  by  the 
hand  tha.t  has  exalted  her. 

"  You  use'  to  like  me "     She  drew 

near  again  and  stroked  his  hand,  then 
clung  to  it  passionately.  "  Don't  go  back 
on  me.  Soph !  " 

Her  appeal  but  snapped  the  thread  that 
bound  her  quondam  lover.  Soph's  patience 
gave  way.  He  shook  off  the  clinging  fin- 
gers, saying,  with  brutal  emphasis,  "  When 
did  I  give  you  a  claim  on  me?  Tell  me 
that!" 

The  girl's  ears  rang  as  if  from  a  violent 
blow;  the  field  of  stubble  seemed  to  rock, 
and  she  was  standing  unsteadily;  the  wide 
eyes  she  turned  on  him  were  unseeing  in 
their  misery. 

332 


Diantha 

He  glanced  at  her  once  or  twice,  then 
looked  past  her  with  an  uneasy  laugh. 

"  Now  don't  you  go  to  making  a  fuss. 
That's  always  the  way  with  you  women; 
a  fellow  can't  go  with  you  more'n  a  few 
times  without  your  making  darned  fools  of 
yourselves.  I  haven't  went  with  you  to 
marry  you.  I  haven't  saw  the  girl  yet  I 
care  to  marry.  It  ain't  my  intention  to  get 
married  for  a  good  ten  years,  and  I  sha'n't 
go  with  one  girl  the  whole  time,  neither. 
There's  a-plenty  of  pretty  girls  a  fellow  can 
have  more  fun  with ;  there's  a  darned  sight 
more,"  he  added,  growing  savage  at  the 
look  in  her  eyes. 

*'  Come,"  said  Soph,  moving  on  at  last. 
"  Are  we  goin'  for  Dolly,  or  ain't  we  ?  " 

There  were  no  more  tears ;  but  she  could 
not  speak;  she  could  only  shake  her  head 
dejectedly,  conscious  of  nothing  but  the 
most  poignant  suffering. 

Her  action  still  further  exasperated  him. 

*'  I  don't  give  a  fig  for  a  girl  that  can't 

smile   and  look   pleasant,"   said  he.     He 

kicked  viciously  at  the  stubble,  then  shook 

himself,  as  if  to  rid  his  mind  of  the  disagree- 

333 


Windy  Creek 

able  impression  left  there  by  having  to  give 
a  girl  the  "  go-by/'  and  strode  back  to  the 
house,  leaving  the  stricken  figure  down  in 
the  pasture ;  the  cold  sickness  of  her  despair 
closed  around  her. 

He  took  Estelle  to  meeting,  and  the  two 
had  a  gay  drive,  for  Soph  was  more  than 
usually  entertaining  that  night. 

Reports  of  Soph  Crimp's  break  with 
Diantha  Bittern  must  have  been  swift  and 
far-reaching,  for  within  a  week  Phil  Schuy- 
ler called — a  thing  he  had  never  done  be- 
fore ;  and  Diantha  raised  her  drooping  head 
and  appeared  with  him  in  public  at  morning 
and  evening  meeting ;  and  the  young  cattle- 
man was  said  to  be  "  setting  in  at  Bit- 
tern's." 

Escorted  by  Phil  Schuyler,  Diantha  went 
to  the  Milligan  dance ;  all  night  she  danced 
tirelessly,  often  meeting  Soph  face  to  face 
in  the  quadrille,  and  doing  the  figures  with 
him  when  it  came  her  turn.  Her  spirits  she 
forced  to  hysterical  pitch ;  foremost  among 
the  girls,  she  rushed  out  into  the  night  to 
cool  hot  cheeks  and  throbbing  head;  but 
once  too  often.  ...  A  keen  wind  had 
334 


Diantha 

blown  up  from  the  east ;  it  was  the  time  of 
the  equinox.  The  air  turned  stinging  cold, 
the  sky  was  veiled  with  gray,  and  long  be- 
fore morning  the  flakes  of  the  first  snow- 
storm fell. 

Her  homeward  drive  chilled  Diantha 
through.  Dressed  as  she  was,  she  flung 
herself  on  her  bed,  where  she  lay  all  day 
in  a  feverish  stupor,  her  only  attendant 
ignorant,  careless  Estelle.  But  when  she 
found  herself  unable  to  rouse  Diantha, 
alarm  penetrated  the  unconcern  of  the  girl, 
and  she  set  off  in  the  storm  for  their  mar- 
ried sisters ;  a  sick  child  engrossed  the  one, 
and  in  the  absence  of  her  husband  the  other 
was  full  of  care.  Dan  lay  senseless  in  a 
corner,  at  least  doing  them  no  harm. 
Diantha  grew  restless  toward  night;  at 
times  she  was  delirious,  or  she  was  wearily 
dancing,  and  she  moaned  for  Soph,  the  first 
time  his  name  had  crossed  her  lips  since 
their  parting.  Estelle  kept  the  fire  burn- 
ing and  the  covers  on  her  sister ;  it  was  all 
she  knew.  By  the  first  streak  of  dawn  she 
was  out  at  the  stable,  harnessing  Dolly ;  she 
would  go  for  Dr.  Peffer.  It  had  cleared; 
335 


Windy  Creek 

two  inches  of  snow  lay  on  the  ground*  and 
there  was  a  January  sting  in  the  air.  The 
seven-mile  drive  to  Arrowhead  was  a  severe 
trip  for  six  o'clock  of  a  cold  morning, 
though  Dolly  travelled  well. 

Dr.  Peffer's  office-door  was  open,  and 
the  doctor  himself  stood  looking  out  at  the 
weather.  Cicely  Atwood's  words  best  de- 
scribed him :  "  He's  a  little  man,  awful  neat, 
an'  he  has  little  bits  of  hands  like  Ruth 
Wood's." 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  rasping, 
high-pitched  voice,  as  the  girl  pulled  her 
horse  to  its  haunches  before  his  door. 
"Who's  sick  now?" 

*'  My  sister.    She's  took  bad." 

"  Let  me  see — what's  your  name — Bit- 
tern?" 

"  Yep."  For  her  life  Estelle  could  not 
keep  back  the  saucy  reply. 

The  doctor  drew  out  his  pen-knife  and 
opened  it,  looking  over  his  well-kept  finger- 
nails in  search  of  one  to  trim. 

"  Your  father  owes  me  six  dollars.  When 
does  he  intend  paying  that  little  bill  ?  " 

Estelle's  eyes  snapped.  "  When  he  gets 
336 


Diantha 

read "  she  began,  but  stopped  herself. 

"  He  aims  to  pay  you,  all  right,  Dr.  Peffer. 
But  my  sister's  right  sick  and  you're  want- 
ed bad ;  I  come  a-purpose  to  git  you ;  she's 
been  a-talkin'  out  of  her  head  all  night." 

"  When  a  bill's  owing  me,"  returned  the 
doctor,  paring  a  finger-nail  with  great 
nicety,  "  I  make  it  a  rule  to  suspend  my 
services  until  it  is  paid."  He  shut  the  knife 
with  emphasis  and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  look- 
ing fixedly  at  the  girl  in  the  cart  to  note  the 
effect  of  his  words. 

Estelle's  face  had  looked  blue  and 
pinched  when  she  first  drew  up ;  now  it  was 
blazing  with  color. 

"  Pa's  sure  aimin'  to  pay  you  agin  he  gits 
his  'taters  sold." 

*'  Sorry  I  can't  oblige  you,  my  girl.'* 

Estelle  gave  Dolly  a  cut  intended  for  the 
doctor,  screaming,  as  the  snow  flew  from 
the  spinning  wheels  of  her  cart,  "  Arrow- 
head's the  ugliest  town  of  men  I  ever  see, 
an'  you're  the  ugHest  man  in  it!  Git  up, 
git  up,  there !  " 

Mrs.  Bunt  and  her  daughter  Polly  visited 
the  sick  girl. 

337 


Windy  Creek 

"  Dianthy  ain't  long  fur  this  world,  pore 
soul,"  was  the  good  woman's  report. 
"  She's  took  down  with  the  noomony.  I 
knowed  what  were  the  matter  of  her  as  soon 
as  ever  I  laid  eyes  on  her.  Thur  ain't  no- 
body to  look  after  her  but  that  thur  flighty 
Stelle.  Stelle,  she  means  all  right — she  do 
keers  more  fur  Dianthy  than  what  she  lets 
on  to ;  she's  got  more  heart  to  her  than  ary 
one  of  them  sisters  of  hern  what's  married 
to  them  Milliganses,  but  she  don't  know 
the  first  thing  about  keerin'  fur  sick  folks. 
It  takes  women  folks  that's  had  some  ex- 
periments of  nursin'  to  pull  a  body  through 
the  noomony.  That  thur's  a  disease  that's 
awful  quick  to  kill  in  this  hyur  climate.  Now 
they  all  say  I'm  a  borned  nurse,  if  I  do  say 
it  myself.  'F  I  had  the  'tendin'  of  Dianthy 
I'd  have  her  up  on  her  stumps  afore  she 
knowed  whur  she  was.  But  like's  not  she 
wouldn't  stay  thur;  she's  the  limbliest 
thing !  When  Stelle  had  the  noomony  two 
year  back — she  were  took  down  in  potato- 
plantin' — the  noomony's  more  like  to  kill 
in  potato-diggin' — she  fit  fur  her  life  like  a 
wild-cat.  It  were  no  time  at  all  till  she  were 
338 


Diantha 

up  agin,  sassy  as  ever.  But  Dianthy  ain't 
got  no  fight  in  her ;  an'  it's  a-goin'  to  be  agin 
her  gittin'  up.  'Pears  like  she  don't  keers 
none  whether  she  ever  gits  around  agin  or 
not.  She  'pears  Hke  she  were  about  played 
out  on  life  sence  her  'n'  Soph  quit  keepin' 
comp'ny  awhiles  back.  I've  clean  wore  out 
all  the  patience  I  ever  had  on  that  girl,  see- 
in'  her  so  took  up  with  him.  It  ain't  ben 
nothin'  but  Soph  this  an'  Soph  that  an' 
Soph  'tother,  goin'  on  three  yur  now.  She 
ain't  got  no  backbone  to  her;  she's  too 
tender-hearted  to  live ;  she  might's  well  die 
as  live — a  little  better;  thur  ain't  no  place 
on  this  yearth  fur  a  girl  'thout  ary  a  back- 
bone to  her  make-up ;  folks  ain't  got  no  use 
fur  sich.  Dianthy,  she  ain't  got  no  friends 
no  more  but  them  Wood  girls  an'  a  lot  of 
hobos.  Them  Wood  girls  dotes  on  Dian- 
thy ;  they  don't  know  a  flip  girl  when  they 
see  one. 

"  Thur  paw,  he's  cleared  out.  Folks  do 
say  he's  that  feared  of  death  you  couldn't 
hire  him  to  stay  around  whur  thur's  a  bad 
case  of  sickness,  fur  fear  it  might  eend  that- 
a-way.  They  say  when  he  come  to  hisself 
339 


Windy  Creek 

after  his  last  drunk,  an'  see  Dianthy  out  of 
her  head,  he  clapped  on  his  hat  an'  lit  out, 
an'  he  ain't  ben  seen  or  hearn  of  sence. 
I'm  wilHn'  to  bet  anything  on  our  claim 
that  man's  in  Oldtown  on  a  spree.  An'  he 
don't  aim  to  come  home,  neither,  till  Di- 
anthy's  up  an'  around  or  in  her  grave." 

All  Windy  Creek  was  agog  with  curiosity 
when  Hermia  Wood  went  to  take  care  of 
the  invalid.  Without  doctor  and  without 
medicine,  hers  was  no  light  task.  The  sick- 
room lacked  every  convenience ;  wood  must 
be  split  to  keep  the  fire  going,  water  hauled 
by  sled  from  a  well  half  a  mile  distant ;  there 
was  no  food  in  the  house,  but  potatoes  were 
to  be  had  for  the  digging,  and  a  cow  and 
chickens  straggled  about.  Strength,  pa- 
tience, sympathy,  were  needful  in  the  self- 
imposed  nurse.  Hermia,  a  novice  yet, 
sometimes  yielding  to  discouragement, 
sometimes  carried  away  by  too  sanguine 
hope,  gave  what  she  could;  and  defiance 
of  the  doctor  spurred  Estelle  to  faithful 
drudgery. 

A  frequent  caller  was  Mrs.  Bunt.  She 
gave  freely  of  her  supply  of  patent  reme- 
340 


Diantha 

dies,  and  reminded  Hermia  that  "  nursin' 
were  a  powerful  teedjous  job."  The  married 
sisters  came,  unloading  all  their  children, 
and  went  away  complaining  when  ousted 
by  the  jealous  nurse. 

The  frail  body  was  racked  with  pain ;  but 
the  mind  of  the  sick  girl  was  even  more 
shaken.  The  long  struggle  to  hold  up  her 
head  and  look  her  little  world  in  the  face, 
that  no  eye  might  see  her  mortal  hurt,  had 
ceased,  and  the  reaction  was  sad  to  see. 
There  had  fallen  upon  her  a  great  weari- 
ness of  her  Hfe ;  the  simple  joy  in  existence 
was  gone ;  the  radiant  dreams  of  her  wom- 
an's destiny  had  been  swept  away,  leaving 
her  life  barren  and  joyless.  She  suffered, 
nothing  soothed;  she  was  tired,  yet  found 
no  rest;  she  was  heavy,  dull,  stupid,  yet 
sleep  forsook  her;  a  drowse  often  caught 
her  away  from  those  around  her,  but,  doz- 
ing, a  numbing  misery  oppressed  her; 
waking,  she  followed  with  languid  gaze  the 
figure  at  her  bedside,  dully  wondering  why 
it  should  put  her  to  so  much  trouble;  she 
was  weakly  impatient  of  it;  all  she  asked 
was  to  be  let  alone,  to  close  her  eyes,  to 
give  up  the  fight. 

341 


Windy  Creek 

To  the  watcher's  earthly  vision  it  was 
plain  that  the  weary  soul  was  longing  for 
release;  it  seemed  infinitely  better  that 
Diantha  should  be  at  rest.  Even  while 
striving  to  knit  together  repellant  body  and 
soul,  she  caught  herself  sending  up  a  prayer 
that  the  pitying  Father  might  take  the  tired 
child  home ;  and  she  marvelled  at  her  own 
inconsistency. 

The  night  was  wearing  away.  Estelle, 
across  the  other  bed,  had  fallen  fast  asleep. 
A  sense  of  loneliness  and  helplessness  crept 
over  Hermia  as  with  pained  ear  she  listened 
to  the  uneven  breathing  of  her  patient,  now 
quickened  and  heavy,  now  dying  away  un- 
til scarcely  perceptible.  If  the  unknown 
journey  should  begin  to-night  there  would 
be  no  interval  of  consciousness  at  the  pass- 
ing of  the  soul;  if  awake  at  the  starting, 
she  would  still  have  no  fear,  because  so  ig- 
norant. She  had  been  so  harmless,  so  in- 
oflfensive  while  on  this  earth;  her  greatest 
sin  was  ignorance ;  would  she  wander  unen- 
lightened in  the  spirit-world  as  she  had  in 
this,  or  would  the  path  be  smoothed  for  her 
stumbling,  childish  feet  ?  Oh,  have  pity  on 
342 


.    Diantha 

this  young  soul,  denied  earth's  sweetness, 
wrung  with  earth's  bitterness,  spent  with 
earth's  struggle! 

So  praying,  the  watcher,  tired  out,  lost 
herself  in  dreams;  and  when  she  awoke 
Diantha  was  sleeping  quietly. 

Inexplicable  to  human  mind  the  decree 
of  Heaven :  rest  refused  the  jaded  feet  that 
had  not  trodden  out  their  span  of  Hfe ;  pass- 
age to  an  existence  less  obscure  denied  the 
groping,  darkened  soul  not  tried  enough  by 
fire.  Diantha,  reluctant,  turned  away  her 
face  from  the  unseen  to  work  out  anew  the 
problem  of  her  life. 

The  convalescence  was  a  weary  time,  for 
the  invalid  was  low  in  her  spirits.  No  lady 
of  high  degree  could  have  been  more  ret- 
icent concerning  her  love  affair  than  Dian- 
tha, yet,  in  desultory  talk  with  her  nurse 
one  day,  she  let  fall  the  remark  that  she  did 
love  blue  eyes,  and  she  liked  right  light 
brown  hair;  and  there  was  a  note  in  her 
voice  that  told  Hermia  her  thoughts  still 
dwelt  on  the  possessor  of  these  charms,  the 
beloved  idol  than  whom  no  image  of  stone 
343 


Windy  Creek 

could  be  more  callous  to  the  worship  of 
humble  suppliant. 

Nurse  and  patient  whiled  away  an  hour 
looking  over  Diantha's  treasures  hoarded 
in  an  old  cigar-box.  In  turning  over  the 
picture-cards  and  foolish  valentines,  the 
peppermint  hearts  with  printed  love-mot- 
toes, and  other  trifles,  the  listless  fingers 
closed  lovingly  round  a  half-smoked  cig- 
arette. And  a  tintype,  gazed  at  long,  with 
no  other  comment  than  a  sigh,  arrested 
Hermia,  who  fancied  she  could  trace  in  one 
of  the  young  fellows,  rigged  out  in  cow- 
boy toggery,  the  features  of  Soph  Crimp — 
the  chin  was  certainly  very  like.  There  was 
a  daguerreotype  of  Diantha's  mother,  long 
dead — a  likeness  of  the  sweet-faced  girl 
who,  in  wedding  Dan  Bittern,  had  cast  up- 
on a  villain's  mercy  yet  other  young,  tender 
lives  than  her  own. 

On  the  day  that  Diantha  first  left  her  bed 
and  sat  wrapped  up  in  a  quilt,  so  wan,  so 
worn,  so  hollow-eyed,  Polly  Bunt  called  to 
see  her  friend.  She  assured  the  invalid  that 
she  were  lookin'  awful  bad — like  she  were 
goin*  into  a  gallopin'  consumption.  She 
344 


Diantha 

chatted  of  the  last  dance,  and  discussed,  in 
all  its  details,  Rose  Rooney's  error.  And 
then  she  said — all  the  while  eying  Diantha 
narrowly — that  Soph  Crimp  had  took  Miss 
Bliss  out  ridin'  in  his  cart  last  Sunday,  and 
that  he  had  took  her  to  church  in  the  even- 
ing; that  he  went  with  her  regular  now, 
and  it  were  all  over  that  them  two  was 
engaged.  The  sick  girl  closed  her  eyes,  but 
in  her  weakness  the  tears  forced  a  way  out 
and  slid  down  her  still  face.  And  Polly 
went  her  way  to  tell  how  Diantha  were  takin' 
on  awful  over  Soph's  keepin'  company  with 
Miss  Bliss. 

A  neighbor  now  and  then  dropped  in,  or 
a  girl  friend.  But  all  Diantha's  old  flames 
seemed  to  have  been  allured  away,  for  none 
came  to  call.  A  round-up  had  carried  off 
Phil  Schuyler  to  the  Divide;  but  she,  not 
knowing  the  cause  of  his  absence,  thought 
him  as  inconstant  as  the  rest. 

It  is  a  serious  thing — totally  to  discour- 
age the  young  and  the  ignorant.  Thrown 
back  on  herself  and  deeply  disheartened, 
Diantha  dwelt  on  one  idea,  until,  on  the 
day  that  Ruth  came  to  take  Hermia  home, 
345 


Windy  Creek 

she,  clinging  to  her  nurse,  gave  utterance  to 
her  brooding  thoughts.  She  was  tired  of 
Windy  Creek;  she  wanted  to  work  out; 
would  they  look  her  up  a  place  when  they 
went  back  to  the  Springs?  She  knew  she 
could  do  that  kind  of  work,  and  she  would 
soon  be  about  again,  as  strong  as  ever. 

What  could  the  cousins  do  but  promise 
to  make  the  search?  They  left  Diantha 
buoyed  up  by  one  desperate  hope.  A  diffi- 
cult quest  it  was,  for  ideal  mistresses,  will- 
ing to  overlook  all  the  disqualifications  of 
such  a  girl  as  Diantha,  and  in  all  kindness 
and  forbearance  to  take  her  from  the  be- 
ginning and  train  her  for  a  servant,  were 
rare  indeed. 

His  superstitious  fears  allayed,  Dan  Bit- 
tern came  home  almost  a  maniac  from 
drunkenness  and  carousing ;  and  the  tidings 
of  his  latest  outrage  flashed  from  claim  to 
claim.  On  the  dark,  cold  night  of  his  re- 
turn, he  chased  his  two  defenceless  girls  a 
mile  across  the  prairie,  at  every  step  threat- 
ening to  kill  them,  nor  quitting  his  pursuit 
until  both  took  refuge  with  their  sister 
Malvina.  His  daughters  had  him  arrested. 
346 


Diantha 

He  was  taken  before  the  constable  of  the 
little  town  of  Arrowhead,  where  Mr.  Crimp 
appeared  as  his  lawyer,  bringing  all  his 
rusty  eloquence  to  bear  upon  the  case;  it 
is  needless  to  say  the  prisoner  was  ac- 
quitted. 

While  his  homeless  girls  stayed  at  Mal- 
vina  Milligan's,  Dan,  unmolested,  kept  soli- 
tary possession  of  his  claim. 

Young  Schuyler,  in  the  meantime,  came 
home  from  the  round-up,  and  now  and  then 
"  went  with  "  Diantha. 

About  this  time  a  letter  came  by  post  to 
the  friends  of  Diantha:  an  effectual  re- 
minder of  her  distress,  if  they  had  needed 
such.  Although  written  in  the  stiff,  fettered 
style  of  the  illiterate,  the  cry  of  the  im- 
patient heart  somehow  made  itself  felt  be- 
tween the  lines. 

"Arrowhead,  Colorado,  October  nth. 
"Dear  Friend  Ruth  and  Hermia, 

"  I  Take  my  Pen  in  hand  to  let  you  know  that  I 
am  well  and  hoping  to  find  you  the  same. 

"  We  have  all  the  corn  gethered.  Estelle  is 
helping  Malvina  and  I  am  helping  Joel  husking 
corn. 

347 


Windy  Creek 

"  Have  you  found  eny  Lady  yet  that  wants  a  Girl 
please  see  if  you  can  get  me  a  place  and  I  will 
come  down  right  off. 

"  I  am  tired  of  the  ranche  I  want  to  stay  in 
Town  for  awhile  for  a  schange. 

**  I  havent  eny  more  to  say  so  I  will  bring  my 
letter  to  a  close. 

**  From  your  Friend 

"  Miss  Diantha,  Bittern." 

"Write  soon." 

But  two  days  after  the  coming  of  the 
letter,  the  good  woman  who  was  to  develop 
Diantha's  good  points  and  bear  with  her 
faults  was  found. 

The  cousins  dispatched  to  Arrowhead  an 
answering  letter,  with  directions  to  the  girl 
to  come  at  once.  During  these  two  days, 
however,  affairs  in  the  country  had  not  been 
at  a  standstill. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
Malvina  Milligan  stepped  out  to  the  corn- 
crib  to  call  Diantha.  There  was  an  un- 
wonted quickening  in  her  spiritless  drawl. 

"  Dianthy !  Hyur's  somebody  come  to  see 
ye.  Better  slick  yourself  up,  first.  He's  in 
the  livin'  room." 

Diantha's  heart  gave  a  leap,  then  fluttered 
348 


DIantha 

in  a  sickening  way.  She  rose  from  her 
knees,  brushing  the  dust  and  bits  of  dried 
corn-silk  from  the  front  of  her  dress.  Could 

it  be ?    No,  the  dusty  little  bronco  at 

the  gate  was  none  of  the  Crimp's ;  she  did 
not  remember  seeing  it  before.  In  the 
kitchen  she  laid  aside  her  shawl  and  washed 
her  hands,  reddened  and  bruised  from  the 
nature  of  her  work,  and  saw  in  the  glass  a 
pale  face,  thinner  than  of  old,  the  sweet 
lips  quivering  wath  excitement  and  weak- 
ness. She  smoothed  her  hair  and  stepped 
into  the  next  room. 

A  young  man  got  up,  awkwardly  scraping 
his  chair  across  the  bare  floor ;  it  was  Dick 
Mace;   he  shook  her  unresisting  hand. 

"  Howdy,  Dianthy.  How's  your  health  ?  " 

"  Tolerable.  Take  a  cheer,  Dick."  Her 
voice  trembled;  it  was  a  disappointment; 
she  had  half  expected  to  see  Phil  Schuyler. 
Feeling  faint  and  sick,  she  sank  into  a 
chair. 

"  Ain't  seed  you  fur  quite  a  spell.  You're 
looking  poor — what  they  have  been  a-doin' 
to  you,  Dianthy  ?  " 

Diantha  flushed  under  the  implied  pity  of 
look  and  words. 

349 


Windy  Creek 

"  I  was  down  sick  fur  awhile,  but  I'm 
right  peart  now." 

"  A  good  lookin'  girl  like  you  hadn't 
oughter  get  poor,"  said  Dick,  looking  her 
admiringly  in  the  face.  He  hitched  his  chair 
nearer.  He  was  not  a  bad-looking  fellow, 
when  sober;  he  was  young,  not  more  than 
twenty-three ;  but  he  had  a  weak  chin,  and 
early  dissipation  had  dulled  the  lustre  of  his 
eyes. 

"  I  reckon  you're  s'prised  at  me  fur  comin' 
to  see  you,"  he  began,  hurriedly.  "  It  was 
your  fault  I  come  back,  Dianthy.  Last  time 
I  seed  you,  I  said  I  wouldn't  plague  you  no 
more,  and  I  ain't  come  to  plague  you  now — 
leastways  not  to  hurt ;  your  pa  don't  know 
nothin'  about  me  comin'  to  ask  you,  so 
there's  nobody  to  touch  you  if  you  say  no. 
I  come  on  my  own  hook  this  time;  I'm 
livin'  on  my  claim  over  to  Brierly,  an'  I 
want  a  woman  to  put  on  it.  I  heerd  you 
was  goin'  with  Phil  Schuyler.  I'd  hate  fur 
you  to  be  his  woman ;  I  reckoned  it  wouldn't 
do  no  hurt  fur  me  to  come  up  an'  see  you 
about  it. 

"  I  ain't  got  nothin'  agin  you  fur  not 
350 


Diantha 

wantin'  to  dance  with  me  when  I  was  full. 
It  was  my  fool  way  of  doin' ;  let  by-gones 
be  by-gones,  says  I.  I  thought  you  was 
awful  gritty  to  hold  out  agin  yur  pa  like 
you  done ;   I  liked  you  all  the  better  fur  it. 

"  What  do  you  think  about  us  gittin'  mar- 
ried, Dianthy?  It  would  please  me  awful 
to  go  back  to  the  claim  man  and  wife." 

Diantha  hesitated,  a  "  no ''  trembling  on 
her  lips.  Keenly  alive  to  the  indignity  of 
being  given  the  "  go-by,"  a  disgrace  only 
to  be  wiped  out  by  an  immediate  and  deci- 
sive stroke  of  marriage,  wedlock,  formerly 
her  one  ambition  and  the  climax  of  her  girl- 
hood, was  now  her  panacea,  the  remedy  of 
all  her  ills.  An  offer  of  marriage  had  come; 
the  chance  was  hers ;  and  uncertainty  made 
her  as  sick  over  her  offer  as  she  had  been 
without  one.  If  only  it  had  come  from  Phil 
Schuyler!  She  would  have  married  him 
in  a  moment  had  he  asked  her;  for  she 
liked  him.  But  her  homeless  state  and  un- 
certain future,  two  grim  spectres,  stared  her 
in  the  face  and  crowded  back  the  faltering 
rejection. 

She  pressed  her  hand  to  her  head :  "  Wait 
351 


Windy  Creek 

a  minute,  Dick;  I  'low  I'll  go  out  chur  in 
the  yard  whur  I  kin  think." 

She  would  go  to  Estelle  and  talk  it  over 
with  her.  Estelle  would  help  her  think. 
Her  head  whirled  so;  Estelle  alius  was  so 
stiddy-headed. 

Dick  Mace  tipped  back  his  chair  and  slid 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  waited, 
whistling ;  he  was  confident  of  success. 

Without,  Diantha  was  being  hurried  to 
her  fate.  Her  sister  Malvina  met  her  at  the 
corner  of  the  house.  The  girl  leaned  for 
support  against  the  shed-kitchen,  her  knees 
trembling,  a  white  line  about  her  twitching 
mouth. 

"  D'ye  want  to  be  a  old  maid,  Dianthy?  " 

It  was  the  fretful  insistence  of  the  theme 
she  most  dreaded. 

"  I  'low  you  will  be  if  you  don't  take  him," 
said  Malvina,  jerking  her  head  toward  the 
house. 

"  I  an'  Phil  Schuyler's  keepin'  comp'ny, 
Viny ;   I  aim  to  marry  him  some  day." 

"  Yes,  if  he  asks  you !  I  see  him  askin' 
you!  He's  playin'  off  with  you  like  that 
Soph  Crimp  done.  Thur  ain't  no  man  in 
352 


Diantha 

these  parts  is  goin'  to  ask  you  to  marry 
them :   d'ye  want  to  know  why  ?  " 

Diantha  winced. 

"  You're  too  old,  that's  why,  'most 
twenty-one,  an'  not  married  yit,  nor  even 
engaged  to  be.  It  ain't  decent  fur  a  girl 
to  act  like  you.  Shame  on  you !  "  and  Mal- 
vina  made  the  gesture  with  her  forefingers 
that  children  make  when  they  call  down 
shame  on  a  culprit.  "  Old  maid's  what 
everybody's  callin'  you  now;  'gainst  Phil's 
done  goin'  with  you,  you'll  be  a  old  maid 
past  askin'  fur,  like  them  Wood  girls." 

Estelle  burst  out  from  the  shed  where  she 
had  been  eaves-dropping. 

"  Don't  you  go  listen  to  that  old  cat,  Di ! 
Phil's  all  right.  He'll  ask  you  next  dance, 
see  if  he  don't." 

"  Shet  yourself,  you  sassy  thing !  If 
Dianthy  ain't  got  the  sense  to  git  her  a  man 
others  has  got  to  hustle  fur  her." 

Malvina  paused,  turning  over  in  her  cal- 
lous, passionless  mind  the  most  forceful 
argument  to  thrust  Diantha  to  a  decision. 
"We  can't  keep  you  no  longer,  Dianthy. 
You've  got  to  pack  up  an'  quit  this  hyur 
353 


Windy  Creek 

claim.  I  an'  Joel's  too  poor  to  keep  a  old 
maid  on  charity." 

"  Scat !  "  said  Estelle,  making  a  face. 

Faint  and  muffled  came  Diantha's  tones. 

"Them  Wood  girls,  they've  give  thur 
word  to  look  me  up  a  place  in  the  Springs 
to  work  out.  I  ain't  meanin'  to  live  off 
you  an'  Joel  fur  long.  I'm  right  sure  I  do 
all  I  kin  fur  my  keep,  Viny." 

*'  You  work  out !  You'd  be  back  on  my 
hands  inside  of  a  week.  City  folks  ain't 
agoin'  to  resk  thur  work  on  a  girl  that  ain't 
worth  thur  keep.    Nobody'U  have  you !  " 

Diantha  turned  and  wavered ;  opened  her 
lips  to  speak  and  shut  them;  and  started 
for  the  house.  But  Estelle,  springing  after 
her,  threw  her  arms  around  her  neck  and 
held  her  in  a  fierce  embrace.  "  Don't,  Di ! 
don't  do  it,  Di ! " 

"  You'll  be  a  old  maid,"  said  Malvina, 
with  dull  reiteration,  "  if  you  don't  take 
Dick." 

Diantha    untwined    the    clinging    arms. 

Hard  lines  were  stamped  about  her  mouth, 

and  the  tension  of  her  features  gave  them 

an  expression  of  unwonted  firmness.     She 

354 


Diantha 

brushed  her  little  sister's  brown  cheek  with 
her  lips,  and  passed  into  the  house. 

In  the  living  room  beyond  she  stood  face 
to  face  with  Dick. 

"  I'm  willin'  to  marry  you,  Dick,"  said 

she. 

•  ••••.• 

The  one  o'clock  train  due  at  Arrowhead 
already  shook  the  ground  with  its  heavy 
pounding.  Lounging  in  the  door-way  of 
his  little  office,  the  justice  of  the  peace 
whistled  abstractedly  as  he  gazed  across 
at  two  figures  waiting  on  the  platform.  A 
cow-boy  half  across  the  street  reined  up, 
sharply ;  a  slouching  brim  shaded  his  face, 
and  spurs  clanked  on  his  boot-heels.  Like 
an  automaton  he  sat  his  restive  horse,  gazing 
transfixed  at  the  apparition  of  Diantha  in 
her  soiled  white  dress,  her  worn  little 
satchel  carried  in  one  hand,  with  the  other 
clinging  to  the  arm  of  Penitentiary  Dick. 
As  in  a  dream,  young  Schuyler  saw  him 
grasp  her  arm  to  assist  her  up  the  steps — 
it  was  her  first  experience  of  a  railway  train 
— saw  their  swift  recognition  of  himself, 
noted  Dick's  backward  look  of  triumph,  the 
355 


Windy  Creek 

cloud  of  disappointment  gather  in  her  eyes, 
heard  the  grinding  of  the  wheels,  the  clang- 
ing of  the  bell  as  the  train  swept  away; 
and  awoke  from  dreaming  in  time  to  see 
the  girl  for  whom  he  had  waited  three 
years,  snatched  from  him  by  another. 


356 


\o  .i^yoo 


